sun tan

I tell her we’re adult fit.

I’m talking about the stage of,

Fits of being in love not of falling in love

sick.

Why people always claim to have–

fallen in love?

I further tell her;

before other men titled us male and female,

we were human bits.

That’s why I came crawling before her,

And asked for heart’s piece.

When people still reeling from

love lost,

When they dream about they being

puzzle pieces,

She and I were one.

So I got to call us lovers bits.

Because our love flows to

everything exciting;

waves bits,

music beats,

rolling bits.

Whilst she astonishingly watches me,

I hope she and I get-

to rock the same boat.

Because I will be a

fool for love,

If i don’t get to take her out.

Looks at me then at her nails,

then tucks into them and-

bites into them.

As I sit there watching her,

I realise that it’s not only her nails–

which are in need of a revamp but,

Her succulent lips too.

All the redness is gone,

Here and there.

Can I call you honey boo,

I say looking at her.

That’s what I’m supposed to say,

Right?

That’s how I’m supposed to woo her,

Right?

Girl, I’m in love with you.

I add.

By then, I believe there’s

nothing this man won’t do.

She’s now a natural;

Scent on her body is gone,

Her nail polish is gone,

Her lipstick is gone.

Everything happened all too quickly,

Isn’t it?

Faster than I could tell her;

girl, I’m truly in love with you.

I sit there on a park’s bench,

then watch her sit next to I

on the very same park’s bench.

Then watch her skin tan,

Then observe missing nail polish

on her nails,

Then oggle missing lipstick

on her succulent lips.

Tears falls from her eyelids,

living them dry.

Living them sore to either of my eye.

as she walks  away,

I shed tears and wipe BIG BROTHER eyes,

Eyeballs bigger than surveillance

eyeballs.

Now that I’ve failed to hold her near,

Am I man enough to call her dear?

Tears drop as I watch her elope

into darkness.

If something ever got to happen to her,

The whole world will be more inclined

to have me locked behind bars and,

as they always say, have all keys

linked to my cell tossed very faraway.

 

 

 

 

 

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hidden truth

I’m only a human being.

Don’t look at me and think;

Why is he like this?

Nobody likes to be stripped like vehicle parts.

You may have seen neurosurgeons

at a hospital as a;

tv viewer,

on a movie set,

or live as a doctor or a nurse.

But you must know that though our writings are live,

And may be reviewed by people differently,

Only the writer knows what he is doing.

I’ll use the word he because I’m a man.

If you’re a female or for any other reason,

within or beyond your control,

Feel like hiding whoever you’re or,

Whatever you feel deep down inside,

It’s entirely up to you and no one will haul you–

on top of burning coals for being yourself.

It’s only when those who are after you,

for reasons only known to them,

That you start feeling the heat of being on the spotlight.

So, before you can do anything online,

Make sure that you’ll be able to remain yourself after,

You got pelted with rotten,

written or spoken words,

by those who believe that your writing is a rant

aimed at;

making others find out;

lies,

truth,

hidden about them.

who are you?

He had thought he was in love–

only to realise it was only a bluff.

Had made him blush whenever she was around–

while all knowing what she wanted from him.

People knew who she was.

He didn’t know and tried to ask her.

She lost her mind briefly as he posed to her a question;

Who are you?

To her, a name explained everything.

Not to him, though.

He didn’t care much about her name but,

About who she was in person.

Walked with her,

Did with her all things couples do but,

Who she was still remained anonymous.

Whenever he got to ask her who she is,

They’ll fight so bitter a fight that strangers had to split them up.

He did everything for her–even taking her confused self to psychiatrist.

But, the woman never changed from being a self made psycho–

into a real woman that he always thought her to be.

Until he asked her about who she was and,

about her family’s background.

Asked her who her mother is,

Snapped.

Asked her who her father is,

Said words that I’ll never turn into rows,

lines or stanzas of a poem.

So my good audience,

who are you?