cap

she's a painting outta focus,
with no good sense of intention
she's authentic
she's a model of disaster,
with a heart of revolution
she's so innocent,
but guilty's her plea
everybody wants to save her
from herself,
they really want to save themselves

she's got the grace of a tourist,
with the charm of demolition
she's a poem without meter or rhyme
a random design of a flower,
like a rose
no one really knows

she's a master-piece deserving
restoration or condemnation
time will tell us
if she's a lifer
or a decomposuer
she is rose,
no one really knows