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They Don't Teach us how to Grieve

They don't teach young men How to grieve.

Be a man, Stand strong, Men don't cry, They say.
That's how we are made.
Somewhere, There's a conveyor belt Constantly chucking out Boys, with pent-up toxic emotions, Shoulders hunched under the weight of society's expectations.
There's a piece of wood in my mouth I bite hard on it praying I don't black out As I saw off another weakness I saw in the mirror.
Something about Better to enter the Kingdom With one arm...
I don't know...
A brother died today,
Recent posts

Introspection

Beneath this mask,
a world of
Warped realities.

Old Sins
Now Black holes
Pull hard
on my days.

I've been
With my thoughts
Far too long

Introspection is exhausting...

Introspection is exhausting... — Yung Likes (@elidot) August 25, 2017




Dreams Deferred

I'm sore, from
Climbing against
The gradient of
My desires.

Dreams deferred
for a reality
forged by a society
lacking imagination.

I ache,
I need somewhere to place my tired.

*****July 31, 2017*****






I need somewhere to place my tired — A (@poetra_asantewa) July 31, 2017


Hoping

The gates to your heart
Have grown small
From years of pain
And betrayal.

Everyday,
I stand behind them
And hand you a piece of me

Hoping,
That at the other side
You are putting me together
Beside you

Not
Feeding the tasty morsels of me
To the beast
That pain conjured
To protect you
from the likes of me.

*****July 4, 2017*****


Priorities of Early Birds

It is not because
Mother Hen did not see the sun rise
That she chose to
Begin the day in silence

But there are things to do,
Chicks to feed,
Fat worms, waiting, to be eaten,
Rice, from yesterday's supper,
spilled by messy children
That hasn't been swept yet;
Unwanted suitors to run from.

It is the Cock who gets excited
About mundane certainties,
Like the sun.
It will rise again, tomorrow.

Mother Hen
Can not be bothered
About the sun,
which can not be eaten,
When she knows not
If, come break of dawn,
messy children will spill rice, again.

*****June 25, 2017*****

Mother's Magic

The pillars of creation
are held in place by
the potency
of my Mother's magic.

Mysteries
of old
Lost to man
reside in her bosom.

Father says
A love recipe hangs down my mother's neck.

*****November 15, 2016*****

A love recipe hangs down my mother's neck — A (@poetra_asantewa) November 14, 2016




Terms and Conditions

They say,
The best things in life
are free.

When
I've mortgaged my dreams
and bought
Life's realities

Maybe,
The best things,
They'll finally be mine...

*****May 11, 2017*****