Her mind was not broken when she was born.

She was once a rose

But, have you ever seen such aversion to a flower?

 

What’s in a name?

They call her crazy, a freak, a nutcase, insane

But, they label her without knowing her.

 

How imperfect-the petals of a rose

Maybe then, she is still a rose

And we are the ones who broke.

 

I know her- her heart and soul.

More than anything, I know her mind

It is beautiful, unique and undefined.

 

She was not broken when she was born

Neither is she broken now I suppose

She is perfectly imperfect

Like a rose.