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Oletu Maano Shikomba Poem
To The Lady I Will Be
You're going to look at me and think
"What in the world were you thinking"
But best believe at the time it seemed right
Loving so hard and holding on tight
You're going to look back and wonder
"Why didn't you do this instead"
But trust me, the repercussions would've been outstanding
You know, for being a clown at every instance
You're going to be high valued damaged good
Pretty ironic, isn't it?
That's because you will always contradict yourself
Always wanting what's best for them, never for you
Yet cry and hopelessly yearn for the favour to be returned
You're going to be an artist
Not of pen and paper
But of flesh and bones
And your wrists will be your gallery
You're going to be so broken, future self
I'll not sugar-coat and sweeten the lemon
But you're also going to be loving
Broadcasting the pure heart you tried to hide from what you thought was venom
You're going to find someone you won't hurt
Someone who will know you for every piece
You're going to be loved a million times
For that's the number of all your cries
You're going to fall in love one last time
And you will feel alive for being in the lime
From each of your broken pieces
True happiness will overflow with peace
Dear future self, our past and present were disasters of nature
Or probably of our own doings
We do reap what we sow, after all..
But then again, we own no field and have no show
Copyright © Oletu Maano Shikomba | Year Posted 2022
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Details |
Oletu Maano Shikomba Poem
Crippled
You think too much on something and the only thing you'll see forth, is all the negativity
You look at yourself too long and you begin to see all your flaws
Lol, forget the beauty within, she is a dying beast
Repressed by sedatives of incompleteness
By suppression of unworthiness
And in the midst of idiocy, one finds her broken heart
Left on the side road with no future, no bidding, merely mercy
She lets her infamous mind draw upon a cage for retreat
In the distance she hears the echoes of her past
Taunting her, making sure she feeds on the errors of her past
She is graced majestically with talent to let it die
She lets her pen do all the drawing, all the signing
Her wrist is inked up in all that her sane self cannot accept
For she lives in a age that suppresses her demons
Yet allows her actions just
In an era she wish not to be but cannot escape
For no matter the number of times she's worked breathing no more
She seems mortal to always survive
Time is like poison for it reminds her of her very failures
Her incapability to serve, to love or think right
A constant reminder that life as she knows it
Will never alter for her suiting
She is a villain in every story and will always be crippled
Copyright © Oletu Maano Shikomba | Year Posted 2020
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