Why must

you make me suffer? 

One error and I am faulty?  

Why do you uproot my regret

and prevent me from my blossom? 

Even the most delicate rose

has its thorns, and you still

see it for its beauty.

Don’t you realize that I too

am a rose? A rose with thorns,

but a rose nonetheless.

Judge my thorns,

you may be without.

But without them, you’re

just another weed.