by Oyindamola Shoola Across the door,
my mother stares at me in horror with arms folded and her tongue loaded. I, almost kissing thirty, as single as a digit, and a chief introvert, still renting a room in my mother's house, currently wearing one of her stolen blouse, managing her fridge with my mouth, and turning up her heat at midnight, twerks to Cardi B's WAP lyrics as I scrub the bathroom's sink "I don't cook, I don't clean but let me tell you how I got this ring..."
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Note on plagiarism:
I appreciate that you admire my original work which I take deep pride in. Poems posted on my website have been posted on my instagram page as well. By all means, you can share my work, giving me credit for it. Mis-representing my work as someone else's is plagiarism and if found, will not be taken likely. If you find or suspect a plagiarism of my work(s), please send an email to shoolaoyin@yahoo.com with reference to where the plagiarism was found. For publishing opportunities and collaborations, don't hesitate to reach out to me via email as well. Thank you. |