Painted teardrops like roses

If I showed you my teardrops, 
Would you collect them like rain, 
Store them in jars,
That are labeled with "Pain", 
Would you follow their tracks, 
From my eyes down my cheeks, 
As they write all the stories,
I'm too scared to speak, 
Would you stop them with kisses, 
Would you hold my face gently, 
As you dry both my eyes, 
And whisper the words, "You're too precious to cry", 

If you were an artist 
how would you paint me? 
With deep solid strokes
or your brush sweeping softly? 
Would you paint me by number, 
quickly fill in the lines
or sketch me first, taking your time? 
Would you use vibrant colors
or plain shades of grey?
Would you change me in any way? 
or Would you hand me proudly gaze at me often and
tuck me away until I'm forgotten?

I've always admired roses
But not for their color 
There's something about them 
That I haven't yet discovered 
Yet everyone tells me 
That I'm looking into deep 
That it is just a flower 
But yet there is something special 
About the roses that you see 
And it's not about the petals 
It's about the thorns to me 
It puzzles me how something 
So beautiful and rare
Can cut you so deep
And you wouldn't even care 

If I showed you my teardrops, 
Would you show me your own, 
And learn though we're lonely,
We're never alone.