Just The Way You Are.

I want to love you the way you are
I don't wanna make you start
listening to my favorite music genre
or watch my best soap operas and TV programmes
I won't change your bedroom's theme color
just to make it to my suit
I won't let you wear some very expensive cologne
or dress up in some pimped up latest fashion
just because my friends' boyfriends do it
I wanna love you the way you are
with all your flaws
and your confused color themes
and your terrible cooking
and your 60's taste of music and fashion
because I want to love the real you
and not a you I have created.

Crack Freshman

Today’s cake tasted different
Its texture, its smell, its color,its feel
It did not orgasmically melt in my mouth
Like my favorite blue berry does
I did not taste it in my mouth
It did not go out through the rear
Instead, it went all the way up
Ignited a part of my brain I didn’t know existed
Brought a different type of pleasure
It took me to a higher level
Higher than cloud nine
I owned a playboy mansion
With fleets of cars and servants
They all bowed at my bellow
I danced,I laughed hysterically
I was happy
I forgot my problems
I walked on water
I flew to the skies
I touched the sun and didn’t get a burn.
For a moment, I owned the world
For a moment, I controlled the universe
At the snap of a finger, I dried the seas
At the wink of an eye unfroze the ice caps
For a moment,
I was God.
I was high.
This new cake made me high.

THE VOW

Groom:

I can’t promise perfection
I won’t promise a ‘honey I’m home’ announcement when I come home
Or flowers in hand or
Sexts everyday at morning, noon and evening
I won’t swear that I will stop drooling at Kim Kardashian’s
Awesomely shaped bosom
Or stop taking the occasional suspiciously long moments with my internet
In the bathroom
I won’t entirely leave Billy’s company
My unfocused carefree bachelor age mate
Who thinks married people are losers
I won’t promise you a ride in heaven, or
A tour in paradise
There will be a bit of hell,
With frequent fires and brimstones.

But I promise to be there
To love you always despite.


Bride:

I will live with your imperfections
That’s what it comes with ay?
But I won’t promise you cloud nine moments everyday either
Not always will I want to burn my fingers making dinner
Or spoil my manicured nails washing soiled jeans and shirts
I won’t promise not to hang Usher’s shirtless poster on my wardrobe door
Or bitch about men with my yet-to-be married girlfriends
Sometimes I will fix my hair into a head bun
Put on baggy pants and t-shirt for a night wear
Not always will I pull striking hot red sexy lingerie
I will also hate on your mother
If she imposes her 60’s education on me
Or, hates on my cooking, my friends or my life
I will not be the perfect daughter-in-law

But I will love you still.

TILL DISASTER DO US PART.







[Photo courtesy of Google Images]

My Life as a Flash Drive

I have a master,
he carries me round his neck
sometimes though,
He puts me in his pocket
with coins and handkerchiefs
or ties me together with his car keys,
so that he cannot lose me.

How would he function without me?
I am his servant-boss
I'm the custodian of all his secrets
From the unvisited folders containing religious quotes
to the untold, unedited stories.
His favorite movies and music
to the picture folders of his naked wife and the recently hottest females
I also know his best folder
'By his Grace'
-Euphemism much....
Only I know there is no grace in there.
Sometimes when he carries me round his neck,
I hang close to his chest
then his heart and I converse in silent whispers
what we know.

I have been to many holes,
from Acers, to Dells to Compaqs, Samsungs and a list of many others.
Out of this beak dipping,
I suffer various viruses
some mild, others I have to see the spy-ware doctors,
scanned, diagnosed then treated
sometimes when my master ties me with his car keys,
And they make that annoying cluttering noise
I want to remind them
I've been to more places than they'll ever be
so that they could just shut it.

Sometimes, actually all times
I hate this working life
of being carried around
forced to be the servant
while in fact I'm the boss.
A powerless, voiceless boss
I would love to drop into his wife's purse
or even better,
with the string he ties me on his neck
strangle him to his death.
If for these duties could be relieved off me.
Or I just crush
and there will be no technology modern enough
to cure me.



(Photo courtesy of Google Images)

Look at Me Now.

I threw my pride to the dogs.
When my sons slept hungry
and my mother's tumor killed her
for I could not afford her medication.
My sister hadn't finished studying the alphabet,
before they kicked her out of school.
Poverty stripped me naked.

Now hot pants and tube tops give me life.
For they tease with such ease
and get me food on my table
and my sons can eat well,
sleep in comfort and go to good schools.

My pastor said,
"Child you're tripping,
this you do is immoral."
But my pastor doesn't know
I can neither fill a plate with morality and feed on it
nor can I sign 'morality' on my cheques and bills.
I need the money. I need to survive.
My standard four education cannot get me that.

So I drained all hopes,
lost all dignity
and my pride,

I fed it to the dogs.