Conclusions

Lady

michaelescoffery.com

We don’t always jump into conclusions;
I almost never do.
When the heart is gloomy,
the mind is tired,
and the soul is weak,
we often lack the strength to jump.

Conclusion is quicksand sometimes;
we can’t help but sink into it.
It’s up to us and the right people
that we carefully choose to help us
to struggle out of it.

Advertisements

Love and Pride

She always went back to plead
every time they fought,
whether or not she was in the wrong,
because she had swallowed her pride
alongside his semen a while before;
her self-esteem was wounded,
at the very core.

He didn’t want to be with her;
but he didn’t want to lose her.
Thoughts of her filled him with pleasure
when she was far away,
and with disgust each time
she came back to stay.
There’s only so much one’s pride can take;
my people often say “one day na one day”.

If Love and Pride could have sex,
she [Love] would always like to stay on top.
Pride would obviously be
more sexually active;
Love won’t be in control for long.

They fought again;
they were both in the wrong.
He waited for her return,
but she’s wasn’t going back anymore.
She had coughed out her senses;
she had rescued her drowning pride.
Now he huffs and puffs because
he wants his stray bitch back,
but “again” is a gain,
and this time, as always, it’d be whose again?

 

Image result for the devil card                                                                        Image result for the eight of cups card

We’ll Get “Bark” to You

New

We’re very qualified,
but we’re not.

“Acceptable resumes should be printed on white A4s”,
but we are black ones.

Lynette.jpg

Our experiences and skills are printed in white,
just like everyone else’s,
but that’s never enough.

They’ll get back to us,
but why wait for the “barks”?
Their backs are already turned at us;
they don’t hire the “darks”.

New York

Paintings by Lynette Yiadom-Boakye (born 1977, UK)

Sick and Tired

I’m sick and tired
of being sick and tired,
so tired of being sick,
so sick of being tired.

I’m so tired of being love-sick,
and just as intensely,
so sick of the way you make me tired.

You make me uncomfortable when
you place a third on our love seat,
when you make me struggle for your attention
like the weakest star among the
lot who love and want to be with the moon,
when I lie with you and there’s no heat.

I am sick and tired of you, of this us, of the way you ride me like a horse.