A rose among the thorns,
Believes she isn't right.
Maybe she's too red,
Maybe she's too bright.

Her gentle leaves don't prick at all,
Petals soft to the touch.
She worries that she's different and
She worries that they'll judge.

She wants nothing more for her
Pretty buds to stab.
She's never once thought that
Maybe they'll be glad.

"We need some beauty in the garden,
Or else we're all just weeds.
Darling, you're the masterpiece,
You're exactly what we need."

And so the rose was proud,
As she shone her bright red colour.
Now her only worries are that
The thorns will look duller.

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Hey guys.

This is a poem for my beautiful rose. It's her birthday and I hope she can finally accept that we all love to have her in our friend group, and that she is someone I'm proud to know. ❤️❤️❤️

-SnowyOwl❄️