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Bitter paradise

By: Kechi Kenyatta

Broken chairs,

Broken limbs,

Name not the bleeding heart,

Maybe it isn’t my day.

I’ve always backed down,

Though backed up by the liquor

Only to jot down my life in my chair

My career to lay off my future

And now loneliness is my middle name

Sadness my pension to hang out with.

I’m an epitome of success

That’s why my name is always kicked about

And now everyone trying to kiss up to my dreams

I got phlox for my flocks

And now I’m better off than the friar

Maybe that’s why I lack even a fryer

A loud sigh is all that I always give

My prints prince a nightmare,

My problems broach the brooch in my stomach

Unveiling the slavery that enslaved me.

© Expired Giant

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