Newborn, skull like chalk, chipped away;  
Chiselled by an unrelenting, iron fist. 
Retreat back inside your mother, child. 
She will keep you safe. 
She will take her warm hands and mould you like clay. 
She will tell you that you can be soft. 
Over the sound of her lullabies, child,  
They will drill out the multiples of three. 
Hack away at your brain,  
Leaving nothing but circuits. 
Grade your ability to memorise and retain,  
Until you’re left running on autopilot. 
Down the factory line, 
Stripped, cloned, lobotomised. 
They will carve you out of stone, with your own barcode, 
Ready to be bought and sold, 
Bought and sold, 
Bought and sold. 



One day, I might feel you growing in me,

A little seed.

You will blossom into the most delicate flower.

I will do my best to protect you, I will cradle you in my arms and sing you soft lullabies when you cry.

But the thought of bringing you into such an ugly world makes me ache with sadness, little one.

You would hate me for being born.

And so I’m not sure if any flowers will ever grow at all.