She was so delicate
So breakable,
That words can tear her to pieces.
Yet she was so beautiful
So aesthetic,
As a blooming rose
That everyone wanted to pluck.
They enjoyed her fragrance
her pretty colors and looks,
But when it came to watering her
Nobody would.
She was countlessly bent
And repeatedly broken,
So her colors started to fade
And she grew sharp thorns.
Anyone who comes near her
Would have to suffer
And she, unaware
Thought the thorns her strength.
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