This is the story of me

Of a rose

Of a man.

 

It was years ago,

I met a man. Or was it a boy?

A toy;

That’s how he treated me,

Me and my rose.

 

A flower.

A red rose.

The most

Precious

Thing I’ll ever have.

 

Fifteen.

 

It was now

I met a man. Or was it a boy?

He found me when 

Nothing 

Mattered.

 

Sixteen.

 

He hid me away, 

Thirty minutes at a time.

He found my rose and 

Pluck.

 

Seventeen 

 

Pluck.

Nobody ever saw.

Pluck.

“You are asking for it”

Pluck.

“Well you’re wearing that?”

Pluck.

“Don’t you want to make me happy?”

Pluck

Pluc

Plu

Pl

P

.

 

He took me and plucked me 

And broke me and fucked me

And tore me apart again and again

Until there wasn’t anymore

Me

To break.

 

It was years ago,

I met a man. Or was it a boy?

 

Years ago I met a boy

Because a man doesn’t break the most

Precious

Thing you’ll ever have.

 

Days ago I met the boy

Who’s now

Physically

A man.

But still a boy.

Roaming free in pastures 

Of flowers.

Just like mine.

 

But you thought the story was over? 

No no.

You thought he could take and pluck 

And break and fuck

And I’d just sit idly by and 

Die?

 

No no.

I did my crying,

I did my dying,

Two years of it.

But today my rose is more

Beautiful 

Than ever,

With more petals than when i met 

The boy.

 

My story isn’t over yet,

I haven’t even reached the climax yet.

 

Years ago 

I met a man. Or was it a boy?

 

But I’m no toy.

 

This is the story of me,

Of a flower,

Of a boy,

And how I lived.