Rose

Beautiful Admired Plucked Killed My heart is a rose. It is happy. As a rose when given to a loved one. It is sad. As a rose when rain falls on it at a funeral. It is wild. As a wild rose growing in a undiscovered meadow where deer fawn frolic. The rose began as a seed. As I did. I was a newborn. Unaware of the events occuring around me. Knew little of the world around me. The rose grew into a bud. As I did. I saw the light of the world. Began to understand. Began learning. The rain and hail that constantly fell upon me started to hurt me. The rose blossemed. Now all of a sudden people notice me. Now is when I'm important. The damage I endured didn't matter. I am a young woman now. A little bit wiser but a little bit broken. The meadow unknown to man was found. The rose was picked. I was hurt for the last time. I start to shrivel and close. Not ready to be vulnerable. I hide the secrets within. My heart is an ugly shrivled up black rose. Longing to be loved but afraid to reach out. Longing for a home but no way to get there. Unloved and forgotten.

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EmoKidd88

15 / F

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