A long time ago, there was a blue rose
that rose above all the red roses.

But one day, the red roses painted the blue rose
the color red.

Now, the blue rose suffers.

The other flowers expected the blue rose to be like everyone else
And satisfy their expectations.

"Follow your orders, be a genius,

An angel,

If you are not anything we want, you are a failure,

An outcast,

You are red, now.
Be red."

But...

I am not red.
I am a rarity.
Inside, I am still the blue rose.

The red rose is submissive, quiet,

Nailed to the prejudices that she is a genius,

An angel,

A homebody always resigned to follow her orders
And say nothing about herself,

Her opinions.

The blue rose, me, is the opposite.

The red rose permitted herself to become something she is not.

Not I.

I am greatly frustrated by all that is expected of me.

I am tired of the sin I am forced to feel when I do not meet these expectations.

My feelings are closed within my mind.

I hate crowds because I hate when people create prejudices.

I am screaming inside.
I am suffering from superficial blame.

I want peace and tranquility,

To float on a sea untouched by man,

To bloom in a forest quiet and pure.

I think I know the reason why there are not
any other blue roses.

They were painted, too,
And now,

I am the only one left.

But I will not remain red.
My time is coming.

And when it does...

Red roses...
Beware...

I am Blue
in the good way.

Amen.