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Parents cheese kindly listen

Voices are loud, but no one listens
Gestures are made, none see a thing
Tongues are frozen as legs tremble
Blurring the sky and the rainbow

Salts for meat, sugars for tea
But theirs are the worst of meals
Stung by bees, parents unaware
So close to hear but far from here.

Sights don’t see an obvious stain
Left behind by the furious rain.
Frightened, ran, fell, then a scream
A child is raped, not only in stream.

But market, schools, mosque and church,
And often abused under parents roof
By strangers and those they applaud
Taking all, others they even recommend.

Singing their praises, blessing them
Whereas all they do is unleash hell
From the sky comes a dripping blood
Gushing out in cold icy flood.

Winning awards as the best observers
But fail to listen to their daughters
When ceilings and roof are leaking
Parents please cheese, kindly listen.

©2018 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu


At ten, her tail
Rotates a snail….
Hammer or nail?
They ask a girl
Called Abigail…

She’s rape today
Next day blackmail…
She opens the gate
To rape and fates
A style she hates.

Bruises she claims
From sane and insane
She hides with aim
Because blackmails
Stains, and her name

Who is to blame
Acquired flame
Or are gods lame
Watching her game
Bleeding in shame.

Cock: The Little Girl That Frown

  • Don’t know if I have a big bottom
    Because the ass is right at my back
    The memories it brings drags anger in a sack
    Hell yea! I frown
    And give a-slow-burn
    Without faking smile, unlike a clown
  • My memories of being a teenage,
    Has men twice my age
    That harasses and rattle my cage
    I wish I was brave or better sage!
    Pain wouldn’t have been in a sack
    But rather free in a cage
  • Black blood droplets, makes me cloud-up,
    And… Yes I frown
    It’s my beauty I like to hide
    So I give a sigh; “talk to my hand”
    And… Yes I frown
    I don’t care how innocent but don’t say “hi”
  • I have been bruised, abused and misused;
    Wish I was born the days hearts had courage
    And tongues were parrots not packed in a sack
    Separated by barriers from the ears of the walls
    Maybe my parents would have heard
    And bullets would have flown..
  • Now I’m just an author of sad sex stories
    But not a property causing cold war…
    Nor an indigestible fiber: so I keep to myself.
    Just me, left in a farm of my thoughts
    Cultivating imperfection that understands me a lot
    Knit-brows, I look-black with a rusted heart
  • Bruises and brushes of bad luck
    Steadily, I give the Devil an evil-eye
    Same eye that saw the Devil down
    Who tore my blouse and pants
    Devouring me in art and act,
    Fagged out in the hook packed in the sack
  • Nothing amaze me, the sound of the word
    … Is as heavy as the word: “Prick”
    If my milk drop please it is my breast?
    At times I wish I had powers of a sword
    To decapitate the cock away from my nest
    Smiling with a frown that says: “you’re yet to see the best”
    • (C) 2012. Written by ONYECHE VINCENT ONYEKA


    The Liltle Girl That Frown

    The Liltle Girl That Frown

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