The boy with the silky black hair
Rips the daisy out of the dirt,

With a shaking fury.

He plucks it like a stray hair and

Whispers to her that she is special- different, somehow

from the rest.

He insists that this is what love looks like:

A boy with a flower

which he turns away from the sun.
You belong to me now,
He whispers,
And crushes it in his palm so it fits
Into his back pocket.
Years later,
The daisy has died
And nobody knows that
She is still there.

Sadia Ahmed, 2017