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it was life who came for me,
to her i never wish belong;
faithless fate played its cards,
and human i happen to turn;

where from? i do not know;
where to? i do not care much;
for i stand just another face,
with the name anonymous;

if only i can find reason why
my heart bleeds so miserably,
maybe then would my head
embrace this elergy of me;

once i found myself a brother,
yet like a lover he wished me lay;
he mistook my feminist feelings
to mean the sex wasn’t straight;

but queer i do not stand, though
i neither stand of the straight sex;
to love or share I came not to be:
i came to live till i tire of its stress;

men dance and make feasting;
the women think themselves pretty;
but merry doesn’t make you man;
and beauty neither makes worthy;

in consequence, I do not merry-make;
for what’s happiness if it’s pretense?
mirth abides ever so briefly with me,
and strays when am among friends;

i live wishing i was never born;
so i drink to forget the fact i was;
the drinks come ever so freely
through the widow next door;

the poison killed her husband,
and same fate she must surely wish
for me each day I go to her store;
not out of hate, but more out of pity.

This is not a tragic tale, and i hope
you don’t ever come to see it so;
this is but the meanderings of a man
who will never truly own his soul;

so today i drink to myself and forever
to the life i never wished belong;
it was fate that played the cards that
made life to pull me from the uterus;

DHEE SYLVESTER.

Dhee is a writing addict. when he is not writing poetry, music or short stories or football, he is working on his novels. a self professed madman, his dreams is to be one of African’s foremost screenwriters.

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