Owoeye Joshua 1 year ago
@Slymjosh Creat... 2 min read Write a comment #poem-poetry

Two:thirty

At two years and a half; We were let out of the comfortable hands of our mothers; To the cold and dry comfort of a scary world outside;

At two years and a half,
We were let out of the comfortable hands of our mothers,
To the cold and dry comfort of a scary world outside,
But which was sweet fun to us,
Because while our female counterparts played hopscotch,
With our small bones, we boys rolled tyres across the streets of Africa.

Fast forward twelve years and a half later,
With our growth spanned like the thread mill,
And testosterone growth at uphill,
While Estrogen hormones are out like windmills.
Our curious eye are filled with questions unanswered,
Of why our female friends' breasts suddenly grew in small size,
And how did our once sweet voice become thick like the bass-baritone leader?

At eighteen years to the eyes of the law, we were legal,
The joy of being Independent flashed through our spine,
No longer came those monitoring grumpy voices of fathers and mothers,
With this came an additional package of free will to choose the path and life you desire,
But in retrospect, it came with a huge prize,
With the unified voice of parents and society combined,
Waiting to see what we make of the freedom passed to us like unwilled inheritance,
While still piling us with pressure, responsibility, and huge demands.
At thirty years of age real life begins to dawn,
But what a bittersweet journey it had been so far,
Even though it was rocked by a couple of mistakes and regrets down the line,
But then customs said nevertheless it’s time to settle down,
Mother didn’t help matters with her nagging request of when will I carry my grandchild.
But bigger than her nags was the question of what’s our choice of a life partner,
And here again, comes the intruder known as the society,
telling us we are only limited to a few options.

# Da Talking pen. 
@SlymjoshCreàtivès 
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