The last flower alive
I was born as a flower on a water-colour painting;
A meek and mild-mannered myothosis,
surrounded by three flowers, but I’m different from them.
I know I am.
They are content to remain the way they are,
Two-dimensional and tamed.
I don’t wanna be painted with serious, sensible colours,
I want to explode in a rainbow of bright pink and crass yellow,
and I wont let Age become my killer.
I was born to rattle my frame,
born to burn a hole in it,
and break free