Prick

A Rosebud, commonly beautiful, pieces in wait to open
Pieces because she cannot completely comprehend her full potential
But is vibrant, surviving only with each token
Each of smiles, laughter, love...
Adoring looks from eyes above her place
In the ground, where she stands firm

Firm, save the winds that may sway her
Or the occasional rain that can disturb her soil and wear her down.
But, during her season, the sun more often is out
Though she has no mouth, she would sing and shout.
Oh, but what of the thorns?

Though she may sit in happy display
She will wilt at the dismay
When she finds a prick she's caused
For some only a prick, but for some more a rip
Originating from that small but potentially painful tip.

Dismay, much dismay. Maybe somewhat concealed
Must figure a way to make this rip healed.
It hurts her inside that most glowing exterior
If she can't fix this, she must be inferior
Inferior of at least what thought she could become
Maybe these petals will never fully blossom

A Rosebud, commonly beautiful, pieces in wait to open
Pieces because she cannot completely comprehend her full potential
But is vibrant, surviving only with each token