Ghana · Poetry

Untitled

How can I say sorry
When you tire to hear me speak
How do I explain it all
When you’d rather I acted it all

You’re mad
I’m contrite
You want proof
All I’ve got is words

You despair of being told what you already know
Of hearing sweet nothings come out of my mouth
But mixing words is my specialty
And a word salad is all I can serve

So please, listen to my sweet nothings
And enjoy my word salad
And when the time comes
You’ll have my presence by your side, our time in the sun and all the proof you want

~ Senam

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