Thorns.

 I was wild, untamed , but you expected differently, a source of beautiful things.  Like heaven was confused with angels, gold and running springs. I was stagnant for so long, stones in my river turned.  But belive me when I tell you, the innocence inside me yearned,  not just to be elegant,  not just a figure to pose, the real me stuck deep inside,  is boundless like a rose. But roses to can be affected by the surrounding weather and storm, as beauty fades, and the flesh still bleeds,  depending on the thorns .