Love (Not)
This cannot be what love is. . .
Being a rose, I am soft, delicate,
loved, adored, envied.
And yet,
This cannot be what love is.
It cannot be that people love me, and yet change me
That I may not be the same size, color, hardness as I once was
As I was when they first loved me.
I have no thorns to protect myself anymore,
I am not myself.
I have not the same color as I was before,
I am not myself.
I have not the same size that you once loved,
I am not myself.
I have not the same familial and hearty spirit, that you once adored
I am not myself.
I wilt. .
And I fade. .
You throw me away,
But that's fine by me,
For you took me away from myself.
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