All good.

All good.

How weird is that?

Is it credible

Can only singers sing

Whilst others

Sit quiet

Who can know

What it is like to suffer

When privilege is worn

Like a glove

Even cast-off it is there

Waiting to be slipped

Back on

When chill winds blow

Is it moral to suffer

For the sin of birth

When there was never

A noble savage

To a colonial trope

Just the underprivileged

And abused

Are we loathe

To be free

At another’s expense

Self-haters

Weekend warriors

Painting ourselves

Into a corner

Waiting to be rescued

By the camera

Photo opportunities

Are to die for

On instagram

Do you have to

Wear the shoes

To sing the blues

Is the whole world

Built on pretense

A masquerade

Of indifference

Auctioned off

To a charitable foundation

An Empire

Of the damned

Re-defined

A linen shirt

Pressed and ironed

Languidly worn

As casual as

A mark of privilege.