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A single rose

A million torns

Each one representing a problem in its life

Each one cutting its own way deeper

Blood, sweat and tears pouring down its petals

Everyday getting harder than the one before

I would like to quote an unknown author,

"Sometimes the srongest among us are the ones who smile through silent pain, cry behind closed doors, and fight battles nobody knows about."

A rose's silent pain is a strong wind

The rose holding on to see another day

Hoping it will get better but never does

Closed doors;

Behind every petal is a story

A dfferent amount of tears

Rarely any smiles or laughter

And battles

The one thing that helped build it's stem

But it is also ONE of the things that helped the thorns cut deeper

The rose hoping to grow

But everytime it stretches it's roots further it is reminded that it is.....

What is the rose?

Is it a flower or soil

Is it beautiful or not

Most times the rose thinks it is soil

Always being stepped on

The rose does not know if it belongs

To a family...

To a group...

To the world...

It thinks it is useless

Having no meaning or purpose to life

Nobody coming along telling it

It's PERFECT

Maybe it's missing a petal

Or maybe it has one too many thorns

But no matter how many petals or thorns

It is still a rose

Even if it wanted to be a

Tulip...

Sunflower...

Or even stick...

It cannot change who it is