To Those With Boisterous Voices

My hair tells an anecdote of my life and the hours spent under the needle tells the range of my vitality.

Sweaty palms grip the worlds throat

in unpaid bookies fashion. The sun

divulges who I really am not who they want me to be.

The moon hides my secrets in the depths

of my skin tone only to be seen by others

that employ my reflection of Africa. I am dessert

before a proper three-course meal for women

who resemble Vanna "White"! They'll suck me off

until my guards down and drain me of my culture,

never to be refreshed again, never to be the man

that my mother and four fathers intended me to be!

To the youth with boisterous voices and a revolution for

change in their bellies, don't fall by the wayside,

don't expose your seed into infertile grounds.