Within each crease, beneath each scar, and etched in every vein
Her petals form a tale alive with hope carved out of pain;
Though deeply marred, disfigured, torn, her beauty proves to me
The choice to bloom despite her wounds is what has set her free.
I read within imperfect folds a novel penned by grace,
For harshest hurts transformed, redeemed, become the very place
Where subtle hues and fragile scent, those glories forged by stress,
Release our truest, highest self – the beauty in the mess.