I stand tall, stem a-bright. My crown is like no other, a crimson red that reminds you of the only good you are. I may seem strong, thorns going to attack if you come too close. I have to admit, I am indeed beautiful, that's why everyone smiles when they look at me. Yet you do not know how to treat such a lovely queen so well. You pluck us from our homes, the ground; and give us to your lover because you believe their beauty could compare to one of a rose. Some paint us black, as black as their souls making us believe we weren't good enough, we didn't quite make it. And now you're cutting me. You say, "we cut and kill flowers because we think they're beautiful. We cut and kill ourselves because we think we're not." Now I feel worthless, now I feel ugly, now... I can't stand at all and my petals that once represented my crown are wilting. A humans mind; a twist.
