Shouting Curses at a Rose

You tell me who to be, and then refuse to walk

Along the beaten path you carved for me. 

I stumble along rocks, and smell each blooming bud. 

Why do you make things so sweet and empty?

I look across the lake, at the glowing fireflies. 

I feel their eyes, their wishes, their needs. 

You know my wants, my hopes, my dreams,

Yet still you turn a blind eye.

Refrain from becoming what you wish you weren't. 

I know you. And you know me. 

We are among the noble and greats. 

We are what we make ourselves. 

Yet you try to make me what I am not. 

This is understandable, but still I tremble to hear it. 

And I wish I could feel it. 

The smooth petals, without their thorny countenance. 

The dew drop's absence after a scorching summer. 

The lies you spurt from your mouth to me. 

I am not what you say I am. Great is what I'll make of me. 

And that is why I must curse your name. 

Despite the heads of beauty crossed the garden path. 

Crossed the beaten path you carved for me. 

Despite the plan you've made for me. 

You silly one. 

To make me who you wish you want to see to feel to love. 

To curse a rose such as you.