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.