Flower in Hand

Look at this flower in my hand

Outstretched without speaking

So eager to devour

I look upon the flower

Decode it wrong become the loser

It grows in girth, your hand it withers

More detached from now

Occasionally look up and dither

To bury, eating away

At your body and mind

So carefully nourished

Symbiotically entwined

Look at the flower, you say

Look at the flower, you say

Don’t give it shade

Don’t give it shade

This is the very thing that helps us get big

Don’t give it shade

Don’t give it shade

Don’t give it shade

Don’t give it shade

All objects that are extensions of me are broken

And here you berate me like a boomer

For the second life I hold in my hand

The one that gives us all we have planned

You criticise me, like all else that sustains you

Wince at the taste of your mother's boob

We travel and complain and point fingers

And we argue about privilege

Like the privileged like to do

Like the privileged like to do

That’s me and you