ink.

iv. Roses

[F O U R]

Roses are delicate. Touch one petal and it will fall and break with the impact of your foot. If you smash it, it is broken and useless. Oh, how I wish the seed was like that too. That way I can smash the unwanted feeling inside of me. I want to love my sister; I really do. But I can’t.

The jealously and hate are already grown and they can’t be smashed with a simple foot. You need an army, you need power and strength to do that. I’m not strong. Neither pretty, or perfect.

But I’m intelligent. I was nice and loveable before my sister blocked me. She stole what I deserved.

Now it’s too late to protest.

They take out their phones and snap pictures of them, smiling after they snapped it. They chat and hang out near the roses, as if their life depends on them.

Just two people are looking at the exotic and rare flowers. They may not be as pretty as some roses, but they are worth it. They are so strange; it intrigues people. Not all of them.

Some may be too strange for society to consider them perfect, because they do not see the beauty in them. They just glance at them once and walk away, not looking further or examining them.

They just walk away and decide they’re not worth it.

You know what’s not worth it? Looks.

If people knew what to search, they wouldn’t be so intrigued with the common ones. They are just copies while the strange ones are just a few.