Poem By Melanie Emikohe

There's a stage in life
when you're quite aware
how old you are
or how old you'd become.
The same time
when you album photos,
design the borders
with nice, vibrant colors
and decide who looks
hot or who's not.

Somewhere along time
things get screwed up,
spoiled what's long been
planned, sometimes
the only ultimate plan.
A point when you don't
really care afterwards.
You just stop dreaming.
You just stop counting.

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Like an obedient child,
I wait. I wait.
Tomorrow, will you?
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If conflicts is my gate pass
to a masterpiece,
i refrain to be an artist.

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Beauty is a disgust to him
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And To Be Forgotten

I want to slither,
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