ManicWorld Magazine

It’s a privilege to cry when your belly is full, it’s a privilege.
It’s a privilege to pay your rates, to post a book, to water your garden. It’s a privilege.
It’s a privilege to sleep uninterrupted. It’s a privilege.
To be one, or the other. But not both. It’s a privilege.
To know your father. It’s a privilege.
To know your mother. It’s a privilege.
To grow, to try and strive, be deprived in a land that’s not your own. It’s a privilege.
To go to court, and hear the gavel crack in your favour. It’s a privilege.
To walk tall, It’s a privilege.
To speak up. To speak out. To not speak at all. It’s a privilege.
To complain, to criticise, to demand. It’s a privilege.
Closing doors on others. It’s a privilege.
Misusing love. It’s a privilege.
Too tall a poppy, my dear. It’s a privilege.
Every time I breathe, and I’m made to deflate.
I’m told, for me, my girl, it’s a privilege.