My story 2018

Who let these people into my house?/

Who showed them the door to my bedroom?/

How did they get to my dirty laundry?

Why are they going through my underwear drawers?/

Why are they talking to my family?/

Why are they making my wife smile?/

How are they making my brothers and sisters laugh?/

And my children excited?/

Why is my father and grandfather nodding? /

Who are they to tell me what to?/

How to do it?/

And who are they to tell mine story/

 

I hear them say I am a dark man,/

Yet they refuse it has nothing to with skin colour,/

They say I have a rich body/

And weak in mind/

But refuse to attribute it to the mental slavery/

They subjected me to if not the physical detention/

So I ask/

Who are these people? That they should own me/

And tell my story/

 

The lord of poverty they call me,/

And accuse of starving my children,/

Giving them only one meal a day,/

Putting children to work they say is child labour,/

They call me primitive uncultured and accuse me/

Of early marriages and FGM’s/

Solution is to gather the neighbour,/

Donate some food, clothes and money/

And come into my home,/

With child trafficking and pornography/

And pedophiles,/

Yet they want to tell my story,/

Air my dirty laundry for the world to see,/

How dare they bask in the glory,/

Of telling my story,/

 

I had that I was cruel, /

That I shouldn’t beat my wife and children,/

And in fact they say it’s an offence,/

While they may be right,/

Who told them they are better,/

Fifty sheds of grey and you will see their animalistic character,/

Sadomasochistic behavior which is not illegal by the way,/

Who made them boss over me,/

That they should qualify to tell mine story?/

 

Democracy and fairness in sharing food in the house,/

They tell me,/

Corruption in the house is bad/

And the brother against brother wars is not healthy/

And as much as I agree/

Who are they to come into my house/

And tell my story/

While they run their houses with twitter/

And care so much about skin colour/

While they scare one another with measiles/

And war/

How dare they tell mine story/

Tell it to their children/

To their women and men/

 

Please let me tell my story/

I own it/

The bad and good it’s mine to tell/

So get off your high horses /

And get out of my house/

And let me tell my story/

 

 

 

 

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