You were a beautiful rose
Such a deep and wonderful red
I saw you lying there
Just soaking in the rays of light
And I knew I wanted you
But not all beautiful things are meant to be touched
Because the minute I had you in my hands
Your thorns stabbed through me
Leaving your mark on me
Now I no longer pick wildflowers
For your thorns ruined me
Silly me though
I should've known all roses have thorns
YOU ARE READING
Where Am I Going?
PoetryA series of poems. Some inspirational, others relatable; they all are meant to help me get what I feel out of my head and out into the world.
