Answer:
I'm a word that is not even strange. What am I?
Everyone asks for me but yet everyone hates to face me. For someone I am agony, for others I am relief! What am I?
I have a name written on me, but it isnβt my name. Men plant me, but I never grow. They look at me and see their future, rotting in my bloom.
I go around and in the house but never touches the house
I can be any color you can imagine. You see me in everyday life. Look around, you can probably see some of me right now. What am I?
No matter how little or how much you use me, you change me every month.