poems from a mentally unstable teenage girl

Dead Roses

Among the dying roses, She was believed to be the strongest. as the ever changing flowers in the vase kept dying and being replaced she maintained. stronger than ever. it didn't matter that her petals were wilting a bit, or that she didn't match the other flowers in the vase. She was the one that stood tall as the others let themselves get thrown away like a cheap object. That was them. Not her. She refused to be thrown in the trash just to be driven around town all to end up in the same place as trash. She refused to be called trash. She wasn't. She knew she wasn't Trash. Even when her beautiful white petals start to turn brown and curl, she was still special. The rest of the red roses tried to compete and compare instead of accepting themselves fully and being happy with their perky Wine red Petals. Instead, Jealously got the best of them and their bitterness started to show as they turned darker and darker and got crunchy like fall leaves. The fact that they couldn't realise how special they were, got them thrown away. The white Rose knew from day one, She was special. So she stayed right there. In her home in the little vase.