The Dusty White Rose

I am the rose.
The dusty white rose.
Is there a difference?
No, not at all.
We are all dusty in a way.
We are not all white roses, but we are some sort of flower or plant
I am the dusty white rose because I do not know what to do.
I sit as people walk by and leave dust on me without notice.
They leave me part of them and it scars me.
They all scar me.
I sit in the center of the world not knowing what to do.
People seem to look at my thorns.
They yell at me for pricking them and for making them bleed.
They yell at me and pull off my petals.
Sometimes, they grab at me to pull at my petals and prick themselves again and again.
I hurt people without meaning to.
I still sit in the center of the earth without knowing what to do.
As people come and go and prick and pull, I am still here.
Does anyone else feel this way?
Is there anyone out there who cares?
Who talks like me?
Who is willing to walk in my shoes?
Is there someone who will love me?
Either way, Yes or No, I am still the rose.
The dusty white rose.
Is there a difference?