Yanka

Roses are red 

My eyes are too. 

You barely see the tears I cry 

And I can't speak my truth 

I hide my scars 

Or blame then on freak accidents 

'You are the definition of beauty 

I'm just picking the thorns' he says 

'I'm just moulding you into a perfect version of you,

Removing the attitude will do you some good' 

Taking away my freedom and making me live with guilt 

You made me believe that I deserved to be treated like I'm no good 

A beautiful rose, trampled on and covered with blood 

A beautiful soul that now believes that pain is love. 

That these tears will feed my beauty 

And his hand will define my beauty.