That's the way I'm meant to be I suppose
Being a little thorny black rose
None comes to this garden looking to pick me
But rejected and misunderstood is how I manage to be free
I stand in my spot as others are loved and picked because of their glow
But better for me! Now I have more space to grow
I'm not red and smooth so they think something is wrong
But to be the same and mingle with the crowd.. there I don't belong
Sometimes it makes me sad
But maybe it's a hidden blessing so I'll shake it off and be glad
The longer I stay ...the larger my petals
The larger my thorns ... the safer my sepals
For when they're all picked and rotting
Here I'll be... the last rose standing