Battlefield / Ready or Not

You fight, whether you are ready or not.

Clipped at my stem.
Little left of my thorns,
In a useless attempt to preserve my nature,
My natural hues are barricaded by my wilting,
To be mercilessly thrown into cold climates,
and forced into medicated waters to artificially satisfy me.
My petals can no longer resist time.
I begin to bloom.
It is the most freedom I have ever had.