My Florist

[Requiem]

Not my best, but it'll do for a start.
--------------------
I am a rose, and you are a florist.
You cut me off of the bush -
Out of all the beautiful flowers you could've picked,
You chose me.
You dolled me up with ribbon
And made me feel beautiful,
Holding me high as the symbol of love.
But, in the end,
As you tried to keep me alive in your vase of water,
All you really did was kill me.
I've been slowly dying
Ever since you first plucked me from that bush,
Separating me from all the elegant roses you've since turned your adoring gaze upon
Now that I'm withered and black and dead.

[billy]

hi requiem

after a couple of reads i think you could cut a fair bit of the poem away and replace those parts with shorter  more original phrases. watch out for words like beautiful, it's used in the biggest cliches out there. could another word be used instead? that you use it more than once doubles it's use as cliche.

You are the florist,

that pruned me.
Out of all the beautiful roses you could've picked,
You chose me.

Not my best, but it'll do for a start.
--------------------
I am a rose, and you are a florist.
You cut me off of the bush -
Out of all the beautiful flowers you could've picked,
You chose me.
You dolled me up with ribbon
And made me feel beautiful,
Holding me high as the symbol of love. lines like this add little if anything to the poem
But, in the end, same here
As you tried to keep me alive in your vase of water,
All you really did was kill me.
I've been slowly dying
Ever since you first plucked me from that bush,
Separating me from all the elegant roses you've since turned your adoring gaze upon
Now that I'm withered and black and dead.

[rowens]

I am a rose, and you are a florist.
You cut me off of the bush -
Out of all the beautiful flowers you could've picked,
You chose me.
You dolled me up with ribbon
And made me feel beautiful,
Holding me high as the symbol of love.
But, in the end,
As you tried to keep me alive in your vase of water,
All you really did was kill me.
I've been slowly dying
Ever since you first plucked me from that bush,
Separating me from all the elegant roses you've since turned your adoring gaze upon
Now that I'm withered and black and dead.

It has florist in the title, the first line doesn't need it, not necessarily. There's a lot of you you you, there's more you you you, the florist not you, stuff than there is the word you, it feels overcrowded. 
Beautiful is obvious, and the word cancels itself out. 
The poem sounds stiffer than the dead rose, it has no elegance. "All you really did" sums up the experience of the poem. It's not really ugly or pretty or anything in between.