I feel...

Tired. Used. Frustrated.

Imperfect. Incompotent. Worthless and hated.

When even roses grew from concrete

Why does mine refuse to bloom in spring?

Yet even when it does sprout, my rose it slants, it leans.

From the aggrevation, from the feeling of being unloved.

From the uncaring, From the misguidance and lack of touch.

Trampled and abused, it still tried to take form.

Constantly abandoned. It somehow survived the storms.

But this is no place for a flower to grow.

This place is unappreciative.

This place is not meant for a flower to live.

And even though it did see the sun,

And sometimes the days were good..

I've decided to leave this home, where I've once stood.

To bloom in the fields where I am wanted and loved 

And maybe someday I'll find a home

In the midst of the Sun.