Everybody is a somebody…..

The body suit zipper stood waiting to unzip,
Like a hatched shell, polka dot complexion,
Where a baby ostrich lay.

Some call that baby, a baby
Some call it a house or home,
Some call it a business,
Some want it, to be like an owl, to be
Inside a parliament.

And for me, it’s coming out
Of my hideout, the sword like pen,
Battling my nemeses, the throngs
Who queue to see me fail.

You could say, I was the closet poet,
Who didn’t know the beauty, a corpus hid,
Who came out, a tux in hand,
To say “I do”….

To a hobby and a blog that will stand
By me, unlike any woman or friend,
A grassroots habit, that is partial
To both fire and moisture.

I’m no fashionista of changing times
And ever-changing wardrobes,
Only a desperado, confessing
His own wretched fate,
A bondslave, who learned,

To serve words,
In forbearing piety.

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