I can't marry a poetess

I CAN'T MARRY A POETESS

I can't really marry a poetess,

We'll compete for the one with greatest prowess,

Our home would be the abode of trouble,

As our pens would always battle.

Why should I marry a poetess?,

Is it to display my adroitness,

Or to showcase my dexterity in poetry battle?,

We'll end up dead by our pens after we scribble.

I can't marry a poetess,

She'll make me the ink of her pen,

I'll strive to breathe and survive under her roof,

She'll starve me and tell me to feed from words written.

I'll live and die by the works of her hand,

Her blood would flow through my pen,

And my heart would be ripped off by a mere quill,

The book would be our castle,

And pages serves as days

Flipping as read by the Almighty.

If I marry a poetess,

Seriously, she'll use my blood as a refill for her pen,

Her words acting like a syringe exposed to air for years.

@penbleeds

(Ayoade Olamide)

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