I used to be a flower, but all that’s left is a stem.
I hated my petals, so i got rid of them.
My colors were ugly, so I threw them away,
I wanted blue, pink, and purple; I didn’t like all of this gray.
to fit in was all I really wanted,
The roses were never got teased or taunted.
I was like the last picked in athletics,
I blamed it on genetics.
I wanted to be in a pretty bouquet,
But my color gray, got in my way.
So I tore my petals out, and stomped them to the ground,
They flew away in the wind, and were never to be found.
Now they're gone for good,
I should've just understood.
Looks can be deceiving, and gray is not so bad,
But now I know that I possessed more than I thought I had.
(February 2009)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem