I’d rather be a shy, unassuming daisy,
Cheerful and bright like a glowing star.
Pure white petals blowing gently in the summer breeze…
They can be like roses,
Always bold-beautiful-cherished and admired
But covered in sharp-ugly-thorns.
They can live a striking-bold-existence,
Hurting everything they touch,
They can remain trapped in a tight-cold-vase
Or lumped together in a bouquet of dopplegangers.
I would rather have a mild, defenseless, existence.
To inspire others, without hurting them,
Resting atop an emerald hill
Or hidden in the shadow of a wise old tree.
I’d rather be innocent and if,
Then avoided by everyone.
Rather than to be a boldly-beautiful rose,
That pricks the hands of innocent admirers
A rose that stains anyone who reach out to it with red
A rose that seduces people with its beauty,
Only to harm them.
I’d rather no one know me at all
Then be known only by the pain I cause,
If I could be gentle, peaceful and kind
I’d rather be a daisy.