Roses have thorns for a reason.
If they were all beauty with out defense
Those hard, sharp edges
Extending from their stems
They would be easily plucked and clipped
Taken advantage of.

They would be used
For some hideous centerpiece
That would be adored for a few hours
Than ignored for weeks

Until the water turned black
Leaves rotted and decayed
The petals dry out and fall
Leaving bare stem remains.

Leave me in my garden
Where I am surrounded by friends
The daffodils, lilies, white chrysanthemums.

The hard working bees
Could make delicious honey
From my sweet nectar
That would be taken to the hive
And served to the Queen.

The words I speak
Are my thorns
Verbal warnings
That I am not to be reckoned with.

Release your the sheers
Remove your greedy hands
Grab me like that again
My thorns will make you bleed
You will be sorry.

Truthfully speaking,
You will never be a rose.
Even if you tried
You would result as a ****
A blight, a disease
Pulled from the ground immediately.

You are a hideous creature.
A monster.
Without you
I am stronger.

I am not a dandelion anymore
Easily destroyed
From a meager blow.

Let me alone
I am a Rose.