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    WordSmithPraise | An African Literary Blog

    Promoting Literary Activities Worldwide

    Saturday, 2 September 2017


    I'm sitting in my room
    Thoughts interweaving like threads on the loom
    These thoughts make me settle into a gloom
    If my spirit were a judge, it would sentence me to doom

    I keep doing these things even when I don't want to
    I feel helpless sometimes like my brain is on a tow
    I step down from my throne always and stoop so low
    Why I enjoy these fantasies, I don't know

    He calls me to his house
    I pull off my cat skin and transform into a mouse
    He kisses me here and there
    And tells me to him I'm so dear

    I believe every single thing he says
    I keep doing all these without getting a single pay
    And go back to my room wanting to kill myself
    Deep down I know he does all these just to satisfy himself

    He shares our bed with other ladies
    Not few of them but plenty bevies
    I've got no power to talk
    Because I don't want him to use the word 'stalk'

    I've got no one to tell
    Because no one has the idea of how much I fell
    If there's anyone to buy my heart, I will sell
    My heart makes me thirsty and he is the only well

    Guilt eats me up, my soul cries
    My body and my heart work in ties
    They both make me long for this sinful pleasure
    And my spirit keeps telling me it isn't my nature

    I keep saying I won't love him anymore
    But deep down, I'm only opening up a sore
    So I go back to enjoy this guilty pleasure
    That I regrettably enjoy beyond measure


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