To everyone you are lily
And you hold that flower within
Yourself, hoping that no one squeezes too tight
And crushes the petals
Broken, they said  

To her you are a rosary without a cross
Wrapped around the necks of those
That care to love you too much
And willing to spill sinful poison
Decaying, she always said  

To yourself you are less than a daisy
Picked at relentlessly
Never fresh in the way that is expected of you
And willing to submit to the picker
Until you’d rather be dead

But you could be a rose
If only you’d indulge
Shamelessly, cross-less
And let it all spill around you
The red.