If you are strummed as a violin
You will showcase priorities of a grace saved from sin
If you are to be petaled as a flower
You will be plucked and used if not venomous enough
You will rot within mere hours
To cower or to fight back, only your decisions and will decide the power
If you are hung from a tree as a citrus fruit
You will ripen and ooze radiance that with flourish down to each root
Dont let that line get to you,because if it blends deep into your head
You will turn sour, a foul bitterness in your grin
The mead of pride will be your end
Gravely avoided by those who are sweet,
and you will be smothered by others fermented in that same Gin
It is looked down upon,
that route holds a tacky fate to meet
If thoughts pass as that of time
You will decay in the stew of fears
All the opportunities will slow in the grime
And the brew you conjured inside your mind
Will waste all of the chances throughout your years
If the talents you hold begin to tower
Their expectations swell,
your being will be devoured
But do not give in to pressure and dwell,
from all the courage, success will flower
Words are needed, boundries should be set
Take more time for yourself and your mind,
These things will be scary, the scraping of gears will grind
But you must be dour, stick up for yourself
Or the last of wellbeing will be powdered and stored on the shelf
Progress will be made,you reap what you Sow
With time and love all of you can grow