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.