Lonely

Lonely,

Yes, it feels remotely

Slowly it makes you stony

But nobody can clone me

Neither own me

People know me

Maybe morosely

Some too, as jolly

But nobody has disowned me

Don’t think of it as unsocial, obsession, or as clonal

Self-love is maturity

It is today’s fashion

You think of me as a thorn

I won’t mourn

I feel like orchid

And live in an orchard day-night long.