Weeds in a Field of Roses

What it must be like to be untouched and unbruised.

To be treated with such respect, honor,

To be be held with such belief.

To be the definition of purity and beauty in a contaminated world.

Yet I am just the flower that gets crumpled and stomped on.

There is no need for weeds in a field of roses.

This poem is about: 


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