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.