By John ‘Dare Okafor

My words are not your words

They stink of perpetual repetitions

Clad in the embroidery of insecurity.

‘’Love your fate’’

Preacher man said.

My fate is my misery

It has become my craft.

My lover longs to hear

The flowery words caught

In the webs of my throat

With no friction of syllables.

My life itself is fate,

And fate is never fair.

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