I hate roses.
Their petals a gorish fickle red
with thorns to adorn them.
Unworthy to be the symbol of love,
for your love should not make you bleed.
I hate roses.
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Why hate roses?
Their petals not always red,
sometimes a moonlit white.
Worthy to be the symbol of love
for sometimes you just need to clip the thorns.
Why hate roses?
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You shouldn't need to upkeep a rose.
It should already be dethorned.
If red isn't proper why are roses red.
If white is what it needs to be then why is the one I hold in my hands a collection of blood and rust?
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The rose can not be perfect on its own,
you must be the one to change it.
Thorns will always come with a rose,
You must take care to remove them.
We dye the poor flower with our mind and deeds.
No flower starts off white.
Yours is of blood and rust because you never thought of cradling it in your hands and treasuring it.
You both must dethorn it
your compassion must be the one to change its color
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But the thorns always grow back!
The color always becomes tainted!
This rose is no good!
So I will hate roses!
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When the thorns grow back you must swiftly remove them.
You must not paint over the red with white,
you must let the rose be willing to change.
Maybe this rose is not for you.
Maybe there is nothing you could do.
Maybe if there are too many thorns you should find a new rose.
So why hate roses?