In one of my darkest hours i find a rose.
Not a rose that brings joy to the eyes.
Nor pleases the nose.
It looks as though it cries.
This rose is torn, ripped, and broken.
It reaches out and screams for help but no one listens.
That`s when I realize and awoken.
The rose mocks me with the why it blisters.
I remember being loving and kind.
But everyone would hurt me
So i left the love and caring me behind.
Knowing being kind and caring makes you fail miserably.
Then when I found you I was confused.
I was not kind, caring, or happy but you cut me slack.
I was so tired of being used.
but, some how you got the old me back.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem