I am not a
you can pick because I am pretty.
No, you cannot pick me.
Who gave you the right
to pick as you please?
Must everyone like you be appeased
With a corpse of golden sunrays,
or velveteen purple,
or crimson finery?
You call them sunflowers, orchids, roses of love.
What names you give for things you kill.
No, I am not a flower
you can pick because I am thin and green.
Just because you have seen
My fragile frame
While you cry tears of betrayal and anger.
Just because there is someone you remember.
Yet still you bend to grasp my body and pull,
my words you never heed.
I am a flower, but you are a fool.
you'll prick your fingers, for I am a weed.
27th September 1999