love, beauty and perfection.
that's the meaning of the red rose.
they do not appeal to me.
not one bit.
i do not know the meaning of love,
or why we love,
or how we fall in love.
things i do not know baffle me,
confuse me.
i feel that it is wrong to
make somethings you don't know,
something you do not understand,
a part of you.
you are accepting something that
you yourself cannot explain.
and that's not me.
that's not what i do.
beauty is not something
that i feel i have.
not interally nor externally.
it is not part of me.
perfection.
an un-human quality.
i am human.
i am not perfect.
YOU ARE READING
røses
Poetry"roses are mostly red, and the sky is usually blue, all flowers will die just like its meaning did to all of you."
