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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Sunday, 25 January 2015

I'm leaving/ until the BS

I'm leaving/ Until the BS...

New found love is a hot plate of food,
marinated in the finest recipes,
awaiting cupid's victims to sit and feast.

First timers dine in exquisite places;
the first impression has to be memorable
and their chef, Cupid of course, undoubtedly generous.

The lush taste tingles their tongue,
the fine wine sparkles in their mouths,
and chills through their skins rally like a defensive porcupine...

After the "first supper", Judas/ Beatrice betrays chastity,
and gives into what Simon says.
Then guilt trips are booked like cruise ships by those once innocent...

The pressure becomes unbearable,
the sacrifice was great, the compromise
is to bare the repercussions of BS in the R/S.

For if you leave, It won't be long until the BS.

So darling,
For the times you asked me,
not to piss on the toilet seat,
and I sat like a Mrs,
not to play the game of miss! [Smh]
I I'd piss on you right now,
but I'm not R.Kelly!

For the times I ironed my bedding,
for me to bid for a winning,
before we'd play the game of trading-
parts in sheets and I did win bid.
you made me a gambler for hairy cat...

For all the times you couldn't,
make up your mind on what to eat,
then picked a piece of chicken,
from my peace of plate and ate,
I always wanted to whoop you...
But I'm too may weather for you..

For all the times you nagged me,
about old things like a history teacher,
you did this, remember this...
What happened to forgive and forget?
 I thought last time was the last time?

You nag me like a broken record,
the worst of its kind replaying bebe cool-
trying to sing an ed sheeran song!
Oh God, Shush!

For all the times you had me on my knees,
to kiss the apples of your gardens.
Now you demand me to do so like a druggie,
as if your are going to pay me- well,
I've had enough! I'm not going to stand in line,
like those apple desperados for your apples.
For your are now like china produce-
It's only 'cause my options are limited!

For the times you had me on house arrest,
when I could be watching soccer with the boys,
but you were too insecure-
you threatened to label my genitals...
You're a psycho, I hope you know so!

For times you made me play house help,
then I had to pay a house help
who you accused me of sleeping with...
Yet all you do is swing your ovaries,
you've got the nerve woman-
matter of fact you've got the balls,
I should give you my pants!

And then you like to be lied to,
Yet you hate it when I lie to you!
Okay you're the most beautiful-
woman in the world! Haah!
Lies! Lies! lies, and you know it!
Women are precious-
it's inevitable not to look.
That's why i ogle when a fine mummy,
crosses by me, dressed to tempt me,
like Lucifer off that apple tree,
until you smack and wake me!

But don't get me wrong,
I know your always right,
and darling I'm sorry.
The truth is you are beautiful,
but the way you push me is ugly.
You shove me into a world with heralds,
heralds that forgot love at the post office...

Too insecure to love,
'cause they might kill the messenger,
Too in love with themselves,
if they could they'd send a clone to deliver.
So in their seductive uniforms,
they slither but quiver.

Meant to relay love,
but make us relay after them,
yet most of us are horny pricks;
therefore, quick to forget the actual message.

so darling, I don't want to chase after BS,
I don't want to chase skirts anymore,
in this hot UG sun yet the chase gets dull like dun.
I get tired of convincing people,
I'm forgetful like a goldfish-
but love like an ingrained leech
Yet with you hit home run,
for you handed me the message.

The worst part of all this poetic BS,
besides me being mad at you for your stress,
is the fact that you've been silent-
waiting for me to cut to the chase.

Ayeh, I'v packed my bags and I'm leaving,
I'm going down stairs where I'll be sleeping,
In the couch, until you forgive me for all the BS I just said!

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