The Heights | June 12, 2020

Feature of the Day | @sree.writes

The flower child
in me longs
for more tranquil sorrows.
Her craving to
‘wallow deliciously’
in thought
gains sustenance
from my making art out
of Australian bushfires
and poetry from
protesting.

I wish for
the flower child
to draw up her
trousers and
‘act like a man’
not draw up her
blankets and
dream of
better men (T).
Because to
be a woman is
atrocity but to have
foolish desire is
weakness.

Thoughts are not
for the weak.
The slow rise of sun
on the morning
of that understanding
shall be the
death of the battle
between me
and the flower child.
(I’d win the fight
but lose her and
hope.)

She’ll be in
paradise and she’ll be the
hallucinating girl.
I’ll walk with the
worst of world’s witherings
away from
sweet-smelling
face-framing honeydew/

I wish
the flower child
never rose.

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