I am a flower, plucked and destroyed
By foreign hands and a gardener's employed
A delicate bloom, with poison in my core
Misunderstood by those who don't explore

I am a page, with a poem beautifully written
Rejected by a poet, my words unspoken and smitten
A canvas of emotions, with feelings that run deep
A reflection of the soul, in the words that I keep

I am the last page of a notebook, worn and old
A...