Surrounded with malevolent thorns,
She is always waiting.
Waiting for the rain to pour,
for the sun to start shining.
The colors she comes in differ, but hers is red.
Red as a traitor's blood that the only thing
that was important was that they bled.
They bled for a war that couldn't be won for the time being.
She may appear sweet and pretty
but she has endured tough things.
She's learned lessons that have made her witty.
Even in struggles that fill her with abhorrence of it, she sings.
Her song is happy but bittersweet
with scars for every pain.
She really is a pleasure to meet
and is quite a friend to gain.
Some people don't get too close
because of all her thorns and appearance.
But some people get close
and see that the thorns are transparent
that reveal the beauty inside her.
She is a Rose.
This is the middle name I bear.
Rose was the name my parents chose.
She is me, my mom, and my great grandmother.
A Rose is what I am proud to be.
This name will never be a bother
as it is an everlasting part of me.