Small Mind Thoughts

I’m alone in a vast world

Thinking thoughts of small minds

Of dry butt cracks of lazy whores

And thrills of wading in swamps

Of yesterday’s mascara stains

And lust-drenched bedsheets

Her young flesh glistened under the light

She was so hot; my weed caught fire

The pie bulged between her thighs

The weed bubbled in my head

Damn, her pie threw a bubble!

She’s torn.

She asks for a stitch-up

And the juices oozed through her godly crevice

Lord of needles,

We have a job!

Charred.

Of what good is life when pain is all it brings?
Do you move out when agony knows your address?
When the heart beats in defiance,
And your feet steps with uncertainty,
Will the embers spark a fire?
That life might find a new vigor?
or
Will you bask in the pain of your realities
and hit nails on your casket as worry chars your faith?

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I just woke up. I feel weary and drab, but my balls are okay.

Bereft

I would have loved to lie
That I miss your company
But insomnia took your place
and we’re doing just fine.

Of Poets and Whores

She’s a girl who’ll be known for her balls
Whoever she encounters she hardens or breaks
She shines with the moon
Arresting the glory of goddesses
My chest heaves at her expectations
Sure, to get laid is a given
But to satisfy a woman is an art
She isn’t your everyday whore
She’s a liberated woman
feigning arrest by hormones
Everything takes shape in her wake
She gobbles my man like a hungry tigress
Yeah she is hungry
She hunts and thrills at her kill
Tonight I’m her prey
She takes her time
A sinister smile spreads on her lips
“This way”
I obey
She rides at top speed then slows down
Then accelerates
Then I die
She’s gone like smoke that leaves no trail
Somebody find her
I swear I would trade my mansion in heaven for the thrill of her ride

Bruises and clots

We will fight again tonight
Like we always do when liquor fills the receptacles of our souls
My spirits will be on vacation
With reason and gentleness as escorts
The love we’ve been weeding all these years will melt into blood under fumes of fury

Whose blood will it be?
I pray it be mine
The kitchen floor hasn’t regained its lustre
No more pints for you

I also pray the neighbours will mind our business
Save you from me
And me from the law
I hate fights
But I love make-up sex

I love how we grow tender with each other
Even before the bandages leave our wounds
In the midst of it all; the blood, the swearing, curses and regrets, remember I love you

In my own strange way

I love your sad moments and your happy days too
I love your torn lips, your bruised face, bloodshot eyes
I love your limping feet
For in these moments of darknes
When beauty vacates
Kindness grows
Generosity takes root
And we love more than the promise our looks sculpted

We will fight tonight baby
Let’s fight even harder tommorow for what shall remain of ourselves

Fat

Hi, I’m Dorcas, I had lost my beauty to spare tyres, but only 2 months in this weight loss program, I lost 50 kilos, and I’ve got my beach body back!

Hi, I’m Titus and used to have a lot of belly fat that my doctor said was the sole cause of my erectile dysfunctions but only 2 months in this weight loss program, I lost 30 kilos and I can now hit that thing!

These are the lies they have used to mint billions and leave behind broken people in pursuit of illusionary beauty.

Beauty is a multifaceted phenomenon that can’t be defined by weight alone. In fact, the last time I checked beauty wasn’t synonymous to Slim!

You peg my worth on the sizes of my body parts and expect me to use it as collateral to buy acceptance.

The media is quick to give you statistics of people who die of obesity, but they can’t tell you how many of us die of self-hate because society didn’t accept as the way we are.

They’ll proudly present to you two people who lost weight massively but won’t tell you of the thousands of plus-sized people who’ve committed suicide because of the cyberbullies they paid.

They’ll lie to you that slim people are smarter but won’t tell you that the ‘fat’ kid that came last in class spent half the term at home for fear of being bullied!

Can’t you see, that this weight issue is a propaganda propagated by schemers who want you to make a contribution to the multi-billion weight loss industry they profit from!

And I hear curvy women complain of catcalls, we plus-sized women don’t get catcalled; we get insulted!

We have been called by degrading names; pumpum, momo, superdrum, drumset, I have lost my identity trying to find where I stopped being a human being.

The society with its unrealistic expectations of what a beautiful woman should be has changed me; I’m the master procrastinator. I have a hangman’s noose on my ceiling but every time I climbed the stool, the sun seemed beautiful, I have procrastinated suicide so many times that death itself is procrastinating taking me!

The truth is, I am not fat, I’m well built. I’m not fat, I’m just big in the right places.

I’m not fat; my personality is too big to be constricted in naked bone-frames. I’m not clumsy, I’m not lazy; I’m just too busy living my life to count calories!

The bible says that my body is the temple of God, you think I’m fat? No! I’ve just created more rooms for the angels!

I wasn’t made to impress

I won’t die of stress trying to fit in a cocktail dress, see, I’ve got enough meat for the wedding dress!

Don’t tell me I’m fat when God who owns the world hasn’t complained that I take more space than what he apportioned me.

I’m beautiful the way I am. Period. I don’t even know why I had to write this to prove that to you, when you spend your days on your knees praising how beautiful and wonderful God is! Don’t you know, He’s just like me!

Childhood Indulgence

The place we used to hide in is no longer a secret, they have discovered it and known the secrets it kept. Our beautiful moments flew when adulterous wives brought their men in; the charcoal notes stood the test of time—to tell tales of our childhood indulgence.

Deprived

I’m not ready, she said
You have to be, he replied
And that was final
She, left neck- deep into the mess
Chained to the ways of the land
The daughter of the lake
A man she has to take
Father’s choice
20 yrs was the age difference
She complained she had another
But gods had decided
And their will she had to obey
She had been fed enough
It was time she got disposed
An item of trade she was
And a herd of cattle was the price
Who cares:
If he loves her or not?
If her heart melts for another?
If he’ll treat her well or not?
If he had a functional engine or not?
She had to be married
To the man who’d lost sight
But still had insatiable appetite for tender flesh
The three-legged man whose backbone needed straightening
He smiles, he whispers seduction but all she thinks;
“Old man you need a mouthwash”
Who cares?
She’ll get used
A herd of cattle wasn’t a small price to pay

Atheist’s Argument

Out on a Tuesday night
Watching people worship the God of the Israelites, the God who punished Israelites for 40 yrs and bribed them with manna and quails to forget.
The same God who sent the Satan in the image of Snake to give the woman a rotten apple— the apple that ejected human race from luxuries of Eden.
The same God who destroyed those in Sodom and Gomorrah because they chose a YOLO lifestyle and melted Lot’s wife simply because she couldn’t control her reflexes
The same one who forced Jonah to go to Nineveh without even considering his approval and then planted a big fish to eat him half-half and leave vital parts heart, elbow, lungs and testicles …just imagine being alive in the fish’s intestines for days…ouch!
The same one who brought havoc on Job for no good reason—yet Job served him with all he had…I’m telling you about the same God who murdered the pharaohs, slaughtering innocent children, and women
I tell you, they had forgiven him…ooh what a good thing to be the lord—you’re the grand puppeteer.