• Some roses are planted in a sea of begonias and peonies,

    But sometimes a seed strays from the lush garden

    And is instead rooted in acidic and sour soul,

    Though it is always a rose.



    This rose, however, does not know her own reflection,

    Where beauty should be admired and praised

    Hideousness and deformity are held close as if

    They were truth, and not the lies they are.



    Because – yes – she is a rose, coming into full bloom,

    A time of her greatest beauty is at hand

    Though do not try to tell the rose this,

    As she will only p***k at you with her thorns.



    Her thorns are her line of defense against those

    Ugly weeds surrounding her, who try and tell

    Her she is not a rose and is one of them,

    And mostly she believes them, to belong.



    Only a rose, hearty and determined, could survive

    The pounding rains and dizzying hot summer days,

    Only a rose could not only survive but flourish

    Becoming even more beautiful, if possible.



    One day she’ll understand what it means to be a rose

    And on that day she’ll stand, tall and proud,

    Ready to change her fate to something more

    Appropriate for a strong and precious rose.