Thorns

Why would I think you would touch me?

I'm covered in thorns.

Not my fault,

it's the way I was born.

I scare you away,

with every sharp point on my body. 

I'm really starting to get sick of saying sorry.

But it's okay,

because you don't want me anyway. 

So I'll just wait here,

hoping someday,

someone will remember me.