YOUR HEAD IS NOT COMPLETE

These things about pants and boxer

The thing's, you'll hate me cos am not that a clean boxer. 

As for you pants, you on no pants and you are on an inch skimpy skirt

that's translucent for me to

see you you cannot climb òkadà let alone would you dare the haunched tree;

Pants, your difficult skirts cannot let you run if needed

So you pack your laps in 'em

You whirl about roundin' the streets' sides

You feeling your butt as squeezed up as they mean

You are on high feeling beatific as boxers see 'em:

black butt

You feel the queen, you quean without modesty, honesty with your:

white butt

Let me tell you:

Your head is not complete

God made you whole with godlike nails to amuse me

You have grown now using Iphone right?

Or na Android you care for?

You sit in some seat at the market place

You seat in your seat at your comfort place

You fix:

Plastic nails

You then look on up to the mirror like the celebs show boxers to wow to aww...

On the internet as you throw 'em around like lionesses' claw

You smiling hard with 'em rainbowed lips

And as you are smiling the super glue fails you

Three of your perfect plastics fall off, you are depressed

Let me tell you:

Your head is not complete

That botton down your tummy, skirt

Memory lane -

It fed your mouth in her saddle

It took too much heat to to to close up

If it vexed and opened you'd give up

Every boxer in your streets can tell the 'em colours of your tummy, yummy-yummy

Not only that but also describe how big your botton be

You cat and work about bare like spoilt nude shoot

And you crave for respects, you smelly like your foot

and let me tell you:

Your head is not complete

You have two breasts as I do

Normally, your 'em are bigger than I do

But yours I have seen, though I have not touched

Though I have not touched, other boxers have retouched

How bulbous they round I would draw

Even as boxers of other streets had drawn

Your nipples n pimples they have counted to be three

I don't know how they did that there beneath the tree

I have counted thirty three

And still counting due to dark spots

Doing sports

With the original 'em two nipples

For your beauteous babies who have fatty dimples

Shush... let me tell you:

Your head is not complete

Your face,

I don't know that one face

Yesterday, it was brown but

your body was darkly light

Today, it was blue with some mixture of greenish red in pink with

some more thingummy of fake lashes that are crimson but purplish cos

Your body is mixed

Tomorrow, you are ready to 'foundation' your (some natural) faults with newer cements

and as your body itches, you burrow

The sun beams scorching your face you suffering to want to wipe your own cement

My dear Pants

Let me tell you:

Your head is not complete

Boxer.

Your boxer are tattered like rags

Like dirty those disgust being, bats' seats on the tree

Like the local pigs' putrid pens

And you zag swaggering you making sense

Even if they are as neat as heavens have

Must you?

Must you dada-artificial fine

Fine?

And must you see 'em bare and your tools are raised to do

it must be madness

You pierced your ears for fashion version

You and I lack vision

We can see

We cannot see we cannot see

Look, let me tell you:

Your head is not complete.

 

Jodekss

©2017