You cut down the forest, tree by tree
to build another villa.
Cut the heads from each blade of grass
to keep in accordance with regulation.
Cut the thorns from the rosebush
to keep it pretty, defenseless.
Cut down the dandelion
to make it easier to breathe;
once medicine, now just a ****.
Cut the boys’ hair short,
cut the girls’ wings shorter,
to make for the perfect family photo.
Cut the native tongue from the migrant’s mouth
to create cohesion in culture.
Cut the stillness of the night
to make way for off-ramps and neon lights.
Cut your health below expectation
for a paper check, riddled with taxation.
Cut your love close
to save yourself some heartbreak.
Cut that which does not serve,
as long as you continue to serve.
Keep cutting away
and calling it progress.