his roots are hidden no one knows where he has been or what he has been through. they only know he was elsewhere once- an elsewhere where experiences are best left hidden
his stem is course composed of hardening resistance, stiffened from a difficult childhood. this is his base, a stability within him. these lessons hold him up and keep him going
his thorns are soft they only look rough to give the illusion of being guarded, but his defenses are easily torn through. if you touch him, he knows he'll bruise but he will never make you bleed
his petals are wondrous their velvet smells of boys' cologne and are dotted in dewy teardrops. he flourishes for the hands that dares to stroke him but the hands only plucks his petals and leave the rest of him behind