Deadheading Black Roses.

When I first met you I was just a seed waiting to grow.

But being with you led me to sunlight and I began to produce consistently.

Our love brought me out of the darkness.

As long as I was showered with your approval my buds were in bloom.

But still my petals weren't fulfilling enough for you to look past the weeds I shared soil with.

 Although everyone has weeds because no flower is perfect.

And even though they weren't hurtful weeds that were an impediment to my devolpment.

They were weeds such as white clover, pretty and more beneficial to the plant than harmful.

And you never truly appreciated their beauty.

My weeds were what made me unique. They complimented my colors.

My weeds are a huge part of me, part of the reason I am the flower I am today.

You only saw my weeds as weeds.

And you began to point them out and tall they stalked me more visible than before.

Then you began to pick at them, then pick them out, and only for a temporary moment were they actually gone. 

Then my weeds grew back wild, ten times as fast, and ten times more strong.

They took over and became competition to my flower.

And the consistency of which I was blooming at began to slow.

These new weeds became so overwhelming that they held back my petals and prevented my potential to grow.

And even though there were weeds in my bed when you met me, now you let them obstruct sight of what we really had.

And soon they grew so aggressively that they began to weigh my petals down.

Shedding one by one  like a game of "He loves Me, He loves Me not" submerging with gravity towards the ground, allowing me to drown.

Not only did you only see my weeds as just weeds but eventually you couldn't even see me.

Even though it's always been all right for everyone to make or have weeds in their bed as long as they learn from them.

 But my weeds did not define me they only refined me, the only flower who needed to learn from them was you.

So busy picking at my weeds in my bed you forgot in your bed you had some weeds too.

Your doubt polluted bad spirits and blocked me from the sunlight.

As I began to wither away, my memories of us decay along with me.

I'm sorry if my thorns scratch you a little on my way down.