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_ SON! _   _ This is that time..... _ I am the first son, with alot of responsibilities. My shoulder bones are getting cracked due to the weight I foresee. The future scares the hell out of me!  I feel incarcerated. * How am I gon carry these burdens * ?  Mother said; SON, the time is near. But, I'm not a donkey?  Should I flee? Oh,  neither am I a monkey!  I wish I were lucky!  I wasn't born with, in my mouth a silver spoon. I wasn't adorned with, on my body, priceless jewels. Who am I?  I am just a SON, birthed in a slum and burdened with responsibilities. The day has come, to dip my feet on the earth, with all might and will, to either search for green pastures or water my own dry land. In the end, the burden is all I want to lighten. She said; SON, THIS IS THAT TIME. I smiled, yes mother... It is...... 🙂              ©ZAINAB MOTUNRAYO KAREEM                 ...
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A LETTER TO MY EX

The moon glared. Stars fluttered. Lips smiled. Love happened. The differences were so obvious. But we thought we could focus, On the path of love, We chose to thread. Flames of love over burnt. Wrecked havoc and costs. Ego was what we couldn't curb. Toxicity was what we called fun! I felt inferior and weak. I looked pale and bleak. I tried to be meek. But your requirements ; my nature couldn't just meet! Toxic! Poison! Toxic! Poison! He used to say to me; Labake, for you, a thousand I could kill. I always told him; TOXICITY IS ALL I FEEL. I once said to him; WHAT IF WE WERE NEVER MEANT TO BE? Admonition was a constant call. I talked till oceans dried up! My heart bled. My soul, almost gone! Do not speak to me like I were your slave! Do not touch me like I was sold to you for a penny! Ofcourse, I can't forget the walks we had. Under the dark night with glittering stars. The moon glaring at lovers. Our favorite spot, I still site. Where we...
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_Life's showing us its true color already. As kids, we've seen more than an average adult would. Hustling real, at such a young age. We've got a sense of responsibility at this tender age. Our 'supposed be soft' palms are as hard as an adult's sole. Our melanin would have been that type that pops, but the everyday  toiling wouldn't let it. We  toil the earth to the brim. Our sweats waters the the greens(plants).  We're closer to mother nature than any other person(s).  We ask this question ; WHY CAN'T EVERYONE HAVE LUXURIES? It hurts to see our parents suffer...our siblings, looking tattered... Even WE, appearing battered!  Who do we blame?  What will happen to our dreams?..........._                                ©Zainab Motunrayo Kareem (RAYO)
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