What I see around Makes my head pound Deafening my ears, silent, no sound I see kids flaunting wealth Everyone on social platform is well up Smiling and tagged on

Writing is least of my passions Doesn’t add a breadcrumb to my table Nor does it contribute a shilling To my pressing monthly bills I do not say that am

There are times I really don’t care About who you are, or what you can do Most times I choose to forget Where you got me from, the miry clay

Those of the church Wear long dresses And keep short nails Those of the church Have a saint’s salutation And heavy Bible lingo Those of the church Abide to the

Do I express my art? To outdo the sharpest dart? Or show how am set apart? Do I share what I write? To show how sharp and bright I am

I owe no one an explanation For choosing red or white I owe no soul an explanation Of my life choices and lifestyle As every man is as free as

Sometimes I feel so down Worthless, a belt short of its buckle Sometimes I feel like a cheap spray Or perfume that smells like sweat I get to my knees

I have worked so hard in life Perused through books of man And dug through the book of life Straight A’s I got Of good character I have been And

I strive to do good Yes, you may see me with my thick Bible With my masterly in cramming the verses And my strong christian dialect But I fall too

Am made of bones and flesh Which simply means I can be fractured by a donkey cart I have a small pumping heart That can go faint from a simple

Dead scorched bones of rust Ill-mannered minds of lust Rushing feet strangling with dust Proud men thinking wealth’s a must Lean pensievely on the rusted masts Sadly am one of

Mama, Do I need a specific day? To pamper you with thanksgiving? Do I need a fraction 1/365? To define my love in 24 hrs? Do I need to follow