It had become so easy for her to say goodbye to a lover
She had become a rose with too many thorns

The melancholy of a guitar lingered always,
playing softly,
as she grew worried about things like intentions

They all walked away because she told them to

When she finally became a flower,
she could only love a man who refused to leave

There was no need to linger on the vine
When it was time for thorns it was time

Growing up one way is hard to forget

That’s what she decided
It was too hard to forget

But still,
she would try
because thorns can only hurt

and that’s not what she wanted to be

Flowers do not grow well in memories made of rice
or ribbons
or promises

But thorns can survive being buried in flesh
and in someone’s heart

Yes it was easier to live that way
Like a rose with too many thorns

Until he picked her for himself