You’re an artist.
My purple leaves don’t suit you
so you paint them green –
To be socially acceptable
But it is that superficiality that I can’t handle.
I grow asymmetrically –
You prune me till I’m symmetrical.
I grow plastic orchids on my branches
you stick paper orange blossoms over.
I give off eucalyptus scent,
you fragrance me with toilet water.
At every turn and bend
you suppress me.