i was the purest rose in the garden, wine red and blushed fronds. i was untouched, the only caresses i felt was when the rain smoothed down my limbs. but overnight, i became nothing but a deflowered little girl, who never fully bloomed. my petals were violated, ripped out of the seams they were tucked in. my soul was disturbed, by a man with rough hands and mean eyes. with every piece of beauty i felt fall to the ground, i wished my body was buried under. i was nothing but thorns, no one could touch me without blood on their fingertips and burning palms. no man could ever embrace me again without being cut and scratched. it is not my fault, i was made to be this way, a dead flower. to get past the defense, feel me softly, love me gently. i will crumble to pieces without care, but my cries will be as silent as the deceased: like they’re never there.