I was a wild rose, in full, glorious bloom.
its beauty enticing, its color captivating
You wanted it for your own.
But you forget that all roses have thorns.
So now I took a scalpel, and attempt to shave them off my own body myself, one by one.
Until I am enough. Because, however mesmerizing the flower is, no one wants the thorns that comes with it.
So I’ll amputate my thorns, smooth down my personality, throw away my fears. Always smiling, shining, colorful. No one will look at my bloody, scarred body and think of what was once there, because it cannot hurt them anymore.
Just like the roses in display in a flower shop, perfectly harmless, perfectly beautiful, perfectly like all the rest.
Perfectly like the world wants a rose to be.