• My heart is like a flower,
    let's say a Rose.
    Through the younger years,
    the rose developed slowly
    and was no more than a mere bud.
    As I entered the stage in life
    where I was ready for love outside of family,
    the rose blossomed a beautiful crimson red.
    I would hand petals out to anyone who I felt worthy,
    which turned out to be a lot.
    Unfortunately those who claimed to care
    Took the petals, and then ripped them to velvety shreds.
    None of it mattered, for I had many beautiful red petals left,
    so I shrugged and moved on from them.
    I met my first love, and handed him the whole rose.
    At first it was treated with care,
    but with the end of our love,
    came the end of my roses beauty.
    He handed it back after destroying it,
    most of the petals gone, the remaining dyed black.
    I held the broken thing, tears falling down my face as the pain sunk in.
    No one wants a tainted rose, so I put it away,
    hoping it would bloom again.
    Years passed, and though I got into more relationships,
    I never handed out a single petal.
    Things seemed bleak;
    I felt nothing but pain, and the rose continued to wilt.
    Then along came a man..
    one who was unlike the others.
    The feelings he ignited in me were unlike any other,
    and he opened the curtains, feeding the rose precious sunlight.
    I gaped openly when it bloomed;
    the petals were a mixture of crimson and black.
    Thinking he would be disgusted, I went to put it away.
    But he stopped me short and asked me if he could care for it
    and take it into his hands in exchange for his own.
    Warily I handed it tenderly over into his gentle hands,
    and when I held out my own,
    I was shocked to receive a rose like my own.
    There are days that the petals of the rose are completely black,
    and there are days the black is almost gone.
    On the painful dark days,
    he chases the blackness away
    with just a simple touch or soft whisper.
    I am grateful he has accepted my heart, the flower,
    for it would be mere ashes without him.