Stems from me

Shredding judgement

Grows inside my pocket

I held so hard onto thinkin’

Knowing I knew rights from wrong

But shit, I know nothing

Days are a chalkboard

Smeared by grasping fingers

Blowing upon words to disappear

Within the breeze

Is dust

From us

Defiant in belief

‘Wrong you say?’

‘Fuck off, this is my way!’

We justify

And outright lie

Everyday doing something small

That needs not to be done

Because it eases

Softens the separation

I cry for a turtle bound by plastic

As I open a packet of fruit shipped from afar

It’s fucking bizarre

Consequences pave the decline

Labels of ‘mine’

Our mother

Her Earth

Heals without our pity

But hate we hold

And selves we scold

Kills her softly

Nothing lightens until the load is shared

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