a bud
you cut me off
before I could bloom.
So, I couldn't
resume to grow
into a bright red rose.

As I was
a flittering butterfly
you sheared my wings.
So, I couldn’t fly.
But I still danced
on the ground.
Till you pranced on me
with shoes dirt brown.

As I was
the apple
of their eye
you poisoned the fruit
with bitter lies.
Till I was rotten
through and through.
Still, I haven't gotten
over you.