My Roses are dead
They're hanging by a thread
They've got dents in their stems
They need more than a hem
But who am I to judge
They still have beauty
For a rose is never truly ugly
Until it stops loving
But still with that Rose you find a soul of someone who knew stories that were never told
For this Rose knew
What the others did not
If she breathes she's a thot
Created- 3/5/18
YOU ARE READING
half way blossomed
Poesíaa collection of poems, thoughts, and other stuff from my childhood. some present. some past.
