Generic

The proud rose 
Can stand as tall 
As she pleases, 
With sharp thorns 
On the ready 
To draw blood. 
 
Her petals all soft 
So alike in quality 
To attract the attention 
Of blinded butterflies 
Who think that each scarlet feather 
Is of a different shade. 
 
But this leaf cutter 
Knows ways around thorns 
To reveal the weakness 
In a flower too proud 
That has the same taste 
As a weedy dandelion. 
 
So bloom on vain blossom 
And give succor to those 
That crave the same sweetness, 
Whilst I wait to tear you apart 
And turn you into 
Just plain brown pulp.

Stung