Not gonna lie,
we’re fucked.
This morning I almost said
Brexit instead of breakfast and that’s sorta what it feels like now isn’t it?
People having to choose between the two and,
they’ve chosen.
It’s beauty and the beast,
the rose that was once the countdown until the end has withered and faded except at the end
we kissed the spray-taned blonde haired Gaston
instead of the Prince.
You just wait, foaming words of hate will froth and boil in the beasts’ mouths and spill over into their chai tea lattes and off shore mansions, until the streets are flooded with people, flooded in general, flooded everywhere until there’s nowhere left to stand.
It is possible to revive a dead rose, you know?
It is possible that every petal, scattered somewhere in the land are people willing to give a helping hand like me, like my friends and family,
I promise I will try.
So please, don’t cry. There’ll always be someone to help, if not me, someone else or someone else or someone else.
You just need to find that
petal.
poetpri 