Young fatherless boys don’t write poems
They write weeping letters to their fathers wishing to tell them that:
Dad if you were around, you would have taught me that “Son, do not allow your penis to rise higher than your intellect. Let not your metamorphosis happen between her legs, that’s the tomb cocoon of great men, buried and mummified in libidos.”
But dad is not around to teach them that, so young fatherless boys grow pubic hair and frustration because it’s confusing being raised by mom to become a man.
I mean she cries at the mention of blood, whilst for me that’s the perfect colour for the hustle rainbow, where we till the barren ground with guns, shooting out our testosterone and shooting more because the accent of this gun noise, sounds like the voice of a dad I keep trying to hear.
Young fatherless boys are prophesies said through bleeding mouths, always hurting into the future.
Young fatherless boys are sheep that are practising how to roar, because they grew up knowing that women are wolves.
Young fatherless boys recite poems at CSP slams about broken moons and wounded stars but how do they know that? Because their hearts are nights, dark with unaffirmed ambitions and love insecurities.
Young fatherless boys recite poems like they’re hanging themselves to the public, nailed with snaps and applauds, but bleeding with every metaphor said right, rhyme scheme made to sound nice… alliterative… word play… but please do hear their silence in between all those words, cause there, right there, that’s where they cry “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani” my father, my father, why hast thou forsaken me?
Young fatherless boys grow up to touch young boys in a way that they were never touched. But their one problem is that they don’t know heart from butt, so they leave these young boys with a generational erroneous lesson: It’s hard, but you take it in like a man!
Young Fatherless boys don’t write poems, they write weeping letters to their fathers wishing to tell them that “Dad, mommy just bought a spare penis because you left!”
Photo: Hazel Fasaha Tobo