Rose

Yes.

Yes, a rose is what they call me.

A picture of pretty

Everlasting for eternity.

But if I let go of myself,

Would you still pick me?

Chasing fire to look fire,

I’ve worked too hard

To be the object of your desire.

Watch me strip myself

Of my fake sparkle.

Who, then,

Would you admire it?

So careful.

Hold me delicately.

Undress me, slowly.

Of all my facade and all my beauty.

Like a broken rose,

Petal after petal,

Uncover my flaws

That I always belittle.

Yes, I’m a rose,

And I yearn to be free.

If I let go of myself,

I wish you’d still pick me.