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?
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.

Featured image by @ziedrish

2 thoughts on “rose

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