seem to forget all the places I’ve gone, still remember
all those I’ve loved – while our dreams still attract my
imagination; dressed in your night gown.

the breath of a lover’s skin still tingles even after she’s gone;
yet it would be the older version of me, teaching the young –
that even the ones with a bag of ***, still carry their baggage;
that even with a bag of tricks by your side, a better man will
make your best love, seem so average.

trading paint over our skins; just to paint a picture of a future;
a man finds joy in knowing he’s the present suitor – though if he
can’t dress the part of her life, please don’t shed tears when she
finds one that suits her.

but maybe I wrote this for all the losers – perhaps, “you sir”

so said the man looking at himself in that mirror. third wheeling
their love as a chauffeur. he once took the financial risk of finding
love. an entrepreneur – yes, “you sir”

           didn't plan to lose her, but hey there, Mr Loser.

tell me, what is the sound of a dying flower in my hands –
as it detaches from the bunch of blossoms and leaves?
the postman missed the message for me, that says,
“I’m heaven sent,”as I pictured myself a better man by
now - the mind draws, whatever aroma of heaven it dreams
of, and carries that detached scent

tell me there, Mr postman – did you grow a rose in your
pocket where I grew a small tree in my heart’s garden,
where falling leaves can be heard. if I could use words filled
with fire, I’d be a bonfire of poems burning at my creative
compost. post me on the wall of your memories, as a painting
of those falling leaves

as a darling would tell me I’m too worried about being
a leafless branch – hey there Mr postman, I finally have
the answer

the sound of crushed water from life, is just the sound
of its final tears – and I’ve heard the tears of that flower,
but it was really me crying about my own self - still being
more fragile.

winter babies cry in the summer time – still thinking
about dying twice, still questioning this one life;
still questing to find still waters – still won’t we be
dying inside; drowning softy?

still silence – I don’t know my place; until I close
my eyes, and can’t see any of my shame. the moon gnaws
off a bit of myself – as putting on a brave face in the day,
is our nature.

we are lost lambs, that bleat themselves into silence.

if I swallowed a piece of fire to light up these lungs, and spoke life
into another’s life with the fire in these words; how wonderful would
that be? even now as I am – the echo of bones waiting to grow old;
feeling like the silence of an empty channel in a car radio – my heart
is often static when it rubs against another; in these electrifying
feelings of love

and much like a tyre running a track – sometimes I need to find a
place to rest, to try and reinflate myself. my lips have become a
clutch, of knowing when to shift conversations when they start to feel
a bit too awkward for me. and my means of a first impression, is one
to impress well enough for them to say, “that’s a man who I deserve,”
yet ironically, I can sing how beautiful I am, feeling so ugly inside –
and hoping I never lose myself to myself

still, look at me, I am unique – such words I must speak for a piece of
peace; knowing that I’m sometimes torn, yet I wear the attire of my
heart. being distant in the humming silence, praying for a mindful
heart, to remember what’s it beating for. for even in the less of myself,
I was created, to be more.

pink blossoms – in the forest of thoughts; I seem
so lost. as a storyteller, I must have consumed a library,
every day is a memory of all that you’ve learned, and
the scriptures on your skin of the Word

where true prophecy reigns – the taste of one’s future
rains, watering faith’s garden. you beautiful tragedy,
making blissful mistakes – life hurts and stresses you
out with heavy thoughts of tomorrow, that you seem
too scared to even let down your hair; it's an anchor

yet in these pink blossoms, any piece of hope blossoms
like a blush on your face – when the slightest beauty
smiles back at your worried face… weary child,
go and pray.

wet skin to skin; a tightly gripped kiss - urged lips
that surely wished they had spoken their feelings first,
then to seem like they’re both trying to quench each other’s
thirst. still shivering in my nerves that I’ve grown so lost
for my words – trying to find my identity in your eyes surface
              ...you look too beautiful for me to even claim

it’s my own shame, that sticks on my throat like a smoker’s
cough – though this love sickness is worth the bit of irritation,
of not always knowing what to do when I’m so close to you
                     ...so yes, I held you, and kissed you

but that wasn’t the initial plan; you rested in my arms and I
had my words for you ready and armed – but my hand in it
all had lost its touch. darling this is so much of a rush for
just a simple crush, to us finally going out, more than once
       …I just wish that from the beginning, I had told you,

                                                      “I think I’m in love”

down to my last dollar for the weekend;
chances of falling in love in a club – I can’t pay for
those feelings. crying thoughts about what it means
to be in love, with delicate watercolours. paint me as
a feeling, as pruning a rose falling piece by piece into
that pit of love

for love is so deep when it first trips you off
your feet, the sounds of it sound slow and easy in my ear –
but like club music, the dj plays a slow song, then suddenly
blares the mood with music to bleed out my ear drums

am I… bleeding out this love, coming up
with a gift of sweet nothings in chocolate box?

      love is all sparks, but any spark can be made\\
         but that real fire in your heart, comes finding
                                                        your right match.

empty wrinkles in the sheets – secrets spilling from your lips;
speak of me in high regards, while digging for those words
“I love you,” that are so deep in my guts

but it takes guts to tell someone you love them, just as soon
as we’ve met – that reason that met my eyes, but is it really
meant for me – to see your real smile behind your mouth’s
many lies? we both desperately try to cut away our past,
though it's so hard, like fading your own hair the first time,
missing a few parts at the back

yet I could stare endless hours at your back – the depth of
your spine, in this empty place where you lie; in all awe of
you, I enjoyed my awe for the time. though time blushed
with me; each morning that I’m forced to leave your side,
we seem to grow even further apart

in place of our memories of last night, these empty sheets
have trapped a piece of both our hearts – but even in these
trap sheets, I still find it so heard to say, "I lov...

…don't give an F to the world, as it will only play you out so flat. it's a
place where young men are taught from a tender age to think with a
D, as if that's the major key to success – we desperately need some
minor adjustments in all our mindset's metronome

life:

the stark black and white hues, like the keys on a piano, as
everyone tries to ascend their scale of freedom. so often, I find myself
pondering what melodies, the piano man in the sky composes as he
watches over us, his fingers dancing effortlessly across the celestial
keys – harmonies to echo through the universe

our heart’s compositions reflect a symphony of your own human
emotions, those blending notes of joy, sorrow, love, and hope – a
beautiful crescendo of one’s life journey. but we live as a fleeting
chord in the vast symphony of the cosmos, hoping to play each note
with delicate precision and purpose

the music within and around you, could guide you through the
harmonies and dissonances of life. fighting the silent chaos in your
head – or being the distracting sound of chaos from all your worries
                             this grand life piano.

purpose: for in the many parts of me, I know somewhere there
could be a perfect version of me – if only I wasn’t losing pieces
of myself so purposely. living past due the experience of full sleep;
ten thousand butterflies in the net of my body, to form a fluttering
soul.

heavy lead filled tears to melt in the soil – when I choose to cry, I
think of the rain for my emotions to better flow, catching my breath
on love, by that breeze of excitement. winded from chasing after the
dreams of it, and running further away from prior defeats – some still
follow me.

love asks me, to fight my battle; a lover would tell me, “be my
champion,” my own strength would remind me to be a little more
patient – my eyes would sting me, for finding a reason to be blinded
again. lastly these unclean hands would pretend to have never
touched a piece of sin though in the many pieces of myself, pieces
of myself have been followers of skin.
            so stands the message, sighed as a lover

don’t hug me for too long, just to suffocate my heart; then
look at me surprised when I tell you, “I think I’m in love.

don’t point me out so quickly as your man – I don’t
want to disappoint you.

don’t look into my eyes for the value of love; I’m also
still confirming the price.

don’t bother yourself giving me a cold shoulder, as a child
I enjoyed chewing on ice.

don’t force me to show you my love, my presence around
you will make sure it’s more than enough.

but…

do tell me constantly, “I love you” –
those three very words, I haven’t heard them enough.

somewhere out in the world, somebody’s child is dying –
we all should be crying, but being miles apart, you right
now could be smiling – knowing not a thing

life is often tragedy; in other times it’s the happier times
to make us smile. we are a billion diamonds reflecting
each other lights – we hope to live, we all know we’ll
die, some hope for peace, still we fight within this life
to try and survive  

we do our best to dream, even when sleep has other plans
so for some, they re-enact the scenes from dreams to make
them seem real. though the past is gone, some of the memories
of it don’t make a retreat; some hope for peace, still we fight
within this life to try and survive  
                seems we’ve always been bred to fight.

dilated tears, those that cut through your eyes – in the
silence of hope, I know love will call for me part-time;
working myself just to prove forever. but it always stays
the same, fighting the headache of it all – smiles dissolving
away like an aspirin in a glass of water

where you rest your mind on everything you had; memories
are just gravestones, where we bury ourselves in – hoping
they too find their resurrection

in memory; I’ve written dreams of love on chiselled marble
slabs – lettered in gold, where we loved each other, close
enough to death; ending if all off as two concrete bodies

love makes death jealous, on how good it plays the waiting
game. the still waiting of a grandparent, who reaches their
own old age, knowing in death, they will finally meet their
lover once again.
                love is age, and that love is beautiful!

a heart dares itself to be in charge – heavy as lead
a mind so lost in depths of the mundane, man’s greatest
and heaviest sigh is knowing tomorrow is, “Monday”

the perennial and annihilating thirst of this flesh;
funny how the power of creation is another man’s
addiction – one who multiplies life, the other just makes
an addition to their means of only finding, “friction”

some days I pray for angels to bear the weight on
my shoulders, the demons sit on top of my head –
all-knowing silence; the darkness smiles at your
shame, but who really knows what to look for in
the dark?

         …I only pray you see yourself in a better light

empty cup that fills my mind – down to earth man
sips the ground; a scent that erodes all other scents
swirling steam, a bittersweet dream – fruitful energy
given by the swirl of it’s heat; as my tongue ripens
to this flavour in my cup

the days are always a rush; a cup of coffee sort of helps
me slow it all down – thrown seeds to grow in my heart,
rejoicing in the love I have for my morning drink. reaping
for more, coffee seeds planted in the coffee machine.

cos some days I work myself like a machine – I need to
oil the machine, with the fuel from that coffee bean
the goosebumps rise on my skin, I’m in love with this
              coffee bean

the silence of your shadow is louder when you don’t watch it –
as the memory of someone in your mind, is just a fictional
character of them. this life: walking on the thin lines of what the
eyes have seen; the unseen waits for us at the great beyond.

the narrative of love still waits on loads of blank spaces –
empty smiles towards pretty faces. but until we find the one
that helps us smile in true depth, the ones we meet are truly
just strangers in the end.

and the days love to dash in sands of time – for no one really
has all the time in the world to live out a thousand lifetimes.
still, we’ve lived a thousand experiences of a thousand lives
in this one life. living as bodies, connected by familiar tears,
stranded or motivated by fears, the highs given by the touch
of two skins, we live as bodies, die from our bodies and will
live on as spirits in the end.

                                   and to that end, the end of this poem.

baby you should know I cry better when I’m alone –
and I don’t really like to have to long conversations on the phone,
if it means I don’t see you by tomorrow, and try to hold you close…

but maybe I’m just so good at being alone –
that any time I’m banking on potential love, it’s just a loan

living so low – the hopeless romantic,
and their romantic feelings sitting solo… even when
I’m fearful of love, it’s much scarier being so in love,
but in love all alone
               no one really wants to be alone

never felt as much – thoughts on how this
crush had turned into love; and how it has
me questioning the value of time
             the right love at the wrong time

if a sunflower grows wild in the winter;
would it still find it’s place to shine – we wait
for love on empty paths and our heart’s many
phases; this seems to be the phase of real love
                   the right love at the wrong time

still are any of our moments better than
the ones before… to be honest I doubt that,
when life gives us more – looking forward to
an unwritten future, whatever it paints out as
I find myself so drawn to you, in this
                      right love at the wrong time

the start of the conversation, and you're yelling,
"where has your *** been,"

  he gives you headaches, you're
                addicted to aspirins.

but really what you're asking him,
is whether he was out with the boys relaxing —

he always says, "no, I was just running late"

you tell him straight,
"listen here boy, please stop feeding
me more lies,
              I'm fasting"

bury me alive, and let's just pretend it wasn't suicide
oh, you don't like me, well so do I — there's this ugly version
of myself that I can't deny, so to every girl I date, I always
pray you'll find a better guy

still, I fell in love with the rhythm of your eyes,
cos you always seem to view me as a better guy. to my
surprise, you give me reason to stay alive

but I always tell you not to read too deeply
on some of the things I say. darling I'm only human —
sometimes I make spelling errors, still was it a spell that
you fell in love with me?

      your purpose is love,
                 and I'll protect it with my life.

where are feelings aren’t involved – feels like we’ve evolved
backwards; undecided on whether we’ll do it for gain or the
appearance of love; this life lacks resolve. from a mortal heart,
is this strangely undying immorality – an act of all our sin being
washed off our backs, though pieces of it seeming much harder to
dissolve.

at this gravesite – would the flowers you bring for me often,
be the ones picked out of your heart; or just be a bunch of weeds
to pick on me one last time, where you washed my face with your
crocodile tears in my coffin.

would the angels and I be laughing – knowing that those who
spit on your grave will one day meet you again. you could still
water my grave in spit; I’ll still grow you pretty flowers.
they’ll hate you secretly, yet join you in saying Amen.

it’s okay… we pray for them often, to deal with the hate
they have towards themselves.

flowing as smooth skin, pimple pebbles in between;
the break out of my skin – still I flow freely as I am,
while my tears weigh heavy on the bank’s sand…

still, I’m glad to know how much you enjoy me tickling
in between your toes – wash off the struggles of your heart,
but please don’t use it as an excuse to leave your *******
inside of me

          you found me as a clear river,
   and I've always known where I'm going
                                    let me live a clear life.

these words sit on a page- there's a crush between
a paper and pen. ah, how smitten are they both, as emotions
feel deep as a well; metaphors and meaning start to swell -
here the poem sits, it sits as a work or art, pieces of the
human heart

may it's message shine as the echoes
of common ground, buried in truth, though a hint
of exaggerated lies, brings it up to rise to the reader's eyes.
             perhaps poetry is a whispered truth

an essence of each passing day, these are stories pinned
onto the page - here I am, but here I am searching for
the words to say.

rental cars – parked away ideals across the street; had a bite of the
sweetest dream, but must have chipped a few teeth. backwash waters;
just a taste of love – most of it stayed in the bottle, still I enjoyed that
little sip.

rental cars – parked a little too close to the darkness, under a
billboard sign that gave directions to the light. by day I’m all that the
world’s eyes believe of me; the genius of one’s destiny only revealed
by prayers late at night. but maybe I’m preying more than praying –
believing in all the wrong, hoping to come up with something right.

rental cars – sometimes I feel like I’m on this journey of life with so
many borrowed things, paid for dreams, passenger fears – sticky
gears, imbalanced wheels, a rusty engine, and an unfair lease
agreement, that I pray will expire long before the next few years.

maybe good people do exist –
maybe we fail to see the good in people
maybe we fail to see the good in ourselves.

bites are much harsher than their barks – to those who
haven’t swallowed their pride. to bite on other people’s
ideas and dreams; their ideals prove an ideal meal –                              
                           their wealth, fame, influence, status


surviving on someone else, feeding until your
teeth are boneless - but when it comes to greed,
one finds a way to feed such a need –  
                         zombies with false teeth.

if I went onto smelling everyone's intentions, wouldn't I have a nose
bleed?' yet even the intentions of love can lead me into an injury –
buckled while smitten, with shaking in excitement of two bruised
knees

and perhaps it is love, that you...

let me run my fingers through your thoughts; curls of your dreams
tangled in my fingers. truly I'm at a loss for words – our tethering
feelings, connected to your heart; we are one pulse

we are stars who shine out their love for each other, though we're
sometimes far apart – we are a spark to a flame blaring echoes of love.
and does the world look at us, as two fallen stars who’ve fallen
in love? here in our silence,
                       as I humbly wait for your response.

my heart – a means of transportation;
with loads of weight to carry, passenger love
interests coming in and out
                 “here’s your stop”

sometimes I want to put it in park
but without any of the sparks, my engine
will just turn into rust – can’t turn if off;
someone who can’t let love into their heart
                   “major turn off”

still here’s your turn off, right by the corner
of the tears in my eyes – the point of a journey
is enjoying the scenes of that journey, but it's
a whole lot better when you have someone on
                                           this ride

     right now, it's a lonely drive.

her style is cold figure
kisses that are a heat seeker –
we lock eyes and I’m so eager
     our passion is equal, though I’m

divided

between which parts of her I love the most
"your soul is what holds it all"
in every action she does; smell, taste, sight,
sound or touch –
                   I hear her soul’s call.

and if they love you, they better make it real clear
cause I’ve been blind in love so many times, that
any sight of it now, my eyes quickly press clear

                               love is something I hardly see!

toxicity is just a human thing; cause of all the fumes we
all love to breathe – do our young men have much chose,
we can all live like men, but need to be trained like boys
if the roof over our troubled fires fell down, would the
smoke clear, or would we be forced to breath it all in?

but that’s how we live because we’re troubled, have dreams
inspired by the ideas of others, treat women less, as men
with no father’s, live in our own shadows because we all
hate our true colours –
                                  we just all want to breath.

had a loud smoke break to blare out my ears – always been afraid
of heights; but that high made me face my fears. and I think I
could have heard my tears, though I don’t cry as much, even
when it comes to love – still if you can hear my heart, we must
be that close; I can feel your pulse…

fleeting ecstasies, the moment I knew you’re no longer
next to me... crossing out my heart, my next ex to be
my jagged teeth still left a mark on your skin – on a stone floor
where you were my crush; left crushed by the rock of love
on my robe, and bare feet, I wore your heart, and let you walk
all over in my thoughts…

****, no planet to own, still I gave you,
my world.

to be honest, I really still love yo… hold, select all, clear…
typing… “hey, just wanted to check up on you”

gaze through the depths of my eyes; do you perceive that these
thoughts are birthed from all that's televised – a smile that I carry,
merely just a show!

beyond the sight of the untrained eye lies unfulfilled desires,
for idleness thrives in the lap of plenty - resting my head on idle
thoughts!

dreams, once drove a heart; now they've driven right off the edge
of their thoughts. as the enigma of preserving a youthful body is
still a secret, slipping away eternally into the merciless grasp of
time.

                                        all pieces of myself eternally yearning
                                                               for just a little more time.

what has happened to your hand, its touch has gone so cold – you
don’t hold me as you did before; that first time we fell in love, we
could spend hours of the night tangled to each other. I wasn’t as
pretty as the other girls, still when you held me, you felt a sense of power - an ownership. you never demanded much from me; you understood how shy I got at the beginning – yet that never stopped you from acting so possessive

even in the times I knew you cheated on me – going after those with much smoother skin, and who held that bolder strike; I knew that you’d never forget me – I was your first after all. I gave you the belief in your dreams, gave you confidence to show off your talents, helped you through your struggles, gave you a meaningful way to express your problems. darling I was your unshakable addiction, the mistress who added value to your diction, darling I was with you when you wrote your very first poem


what has happened to your hand, its touch has gone so cold – I hope
you found the right girl, still I’ll love you forever even when you get a
touch of every one of them in their words.





“And I too will love you forever, my first love…
my write, my words, forever my first poem that
came from you… my Eversharp pen."

stole my heart from an empty place –
our love is a battlefield;
fighting not to kiss one last time,
and making me feel like I’m in love
before I even kindled those very sparks –
                              my chest is your fireplace.

his eyes are what graze his meal,
while he pokes at it with a fork, like a child

she asks in a sweet voice, if there’s
anything on his mind…

with a full plate, leftovers of his love
for her, and an empty pride - he finally asks
her

“did you also tell him you love him, right
after I watch you both kiss each other”

splat!

her spoon crushes pieces of food on her plate,
my love, I swear to you, it was only ONE TIME

he smiles, but in a sombre voice he replies,
“funny, with such a passionate kiss I watched,

I’m sure the both of you had a lot of practice”

bending pictures to fit into someone else’s frame –
their life… is it not so beautiful from the viewer’s eyes
in some profound way, they must think of me in the
same kind of way

our pictures are stained,

with shame, pain, loss, hardships, desires, envy, bitterness
but you don’t know this of me… you get to watch the picture
while I painted all its vivid features
I don’t know this of you… cos I watch your picture believing
its much more unique – but you and I are pieces that are

                    incomplete.

a space to breathe – my ID is just a membership card
for the club of my nationality. rationally detailed;
but the details of it aren’t the details of my life

my identity formed in numbers, letters, and regional
placement – a birth verification code into a nameless reality;
social norms, laws to conform, my legitimacy by roadblocks
that is confirmed… how I wish it said I love to write poems

that I'm insecure of my self image in the mirror sometimes,
that ageing with grace, is more of a reminder of all the things
I wish I had done at a younger age – a collection of my desires
and experiences; the love I have to give, love I hope to one
day receive, all the places I hope to dream, a place…

sigh,




                     a space to breathe.

tell me, what's the key to your thoughts
do you have them locked in your locs –

chasing after a touch of those tangled thoughts
running fingers through your hair, but your
dreads are too thick - still that's alright

                      at least I have you tonight.

tell me about a passionate spirit - I decide when not to die,
especially when dealing with suicide. waste myself, hate myself —
feeling like all the worst things. lose my thoughts, I cannot find
my mind; found a cause, held onto that knife

right now, I cannot breathe, yet still… I'll choose to live —
no more suicides.

the sweet scent of flowers
grazes the finely thinned hairs of a lover
while a butterfly flits in their stomach ready
to tie that uncomfortable knot…

                               she has fallen in love.

we are speech and breath
the days are red; painted blushes in the sky
would the Heavens tell us stories of true love –
a message well read?

in the silence of my room… I
dance the loudest,
pray the longest
cry the ugliest,
laugh the modest,
dream the youngest,
stare at empty walls for promise,
break down the strongest,
overthink within a guilty conscience,
play out my scenarios worthy of their flowers
planting fields of doubt for all my anxieties
to have a fruitful harvest

in the silence of my room… I
am truly at my honest.

while pieces of the rain remains
lost on the leaves – my tears hit the ground
slowly after they have painted my face

still more fragile;
thirsty for water as I keep my eyes open

searching for a picture of you, but the cloud's
tears mix with my own, blurring up my glasses

the sun had peeled away itself
blinded by a shade of heavy clouds – heavy emotions
as emotional as I get when I know you’re so far

it's raining and I need you

the dew of my tears feels wet on tight sleeves
the sweat from my brow jumps like water in springtime
and if I could use words to describe my heart – it would
only seal away my lips

my tears are like scattering flowers
blown away by the winds – my lungs are a leafless branch
veiled in such a dry cough; choking away at my pride

nights I’ve dreamt of suicide, to live on
and tell of it lies; it was an empty void that wouldn’t fill
the belly of some hungry wild dog – and if I could speak
a fruitful prophecy for my life, my lips would be the scent of plums.

the scent of love has detached from my heart
a fallen leaf from a tree no longer bearing ripe fruit –
and I rest watching the other’s love blossom
off into the distance

and

an old lover’s kiss carries the scent of love
by the wind in between two lips – a secret kept
between the two… forever, lest they meet again

oh, what a great pain it would be.

Hourglass figures; individuals who invest countless hours crafting
a glass figure. When life tosses you around, you’re bound to shatter –
so meagre!

You repugnant creature, crumbling and oozing into this vessel, as
the grains of sand cascade within all the time you thought your
beauty had bought. You gaze at it, chasing the dazzling glow of
notoriety, unaware that such brilliance will gnaw away at your very
bones, leaving you broken and cold.

Within the heart of every renowned star lies a tumultuous inferno,
a labyrinth of madness that serves as your ultimate reward.

I’m left bare by a grizzly burden of a bear upon my thoughts – heavy,
and hibernating; as the love of my life dashes across the winding road
of my mind – my eyes are headlights illuminating to my dear. My
love for her still endures, even when she poses her ***** questions,
“Would you still love me if I were a worm crawling through the
dirt?” Of course, my heart answers yes, for I often ponder how she so
effortlessly wiggled her way into my life.

“Does this outfit make me look fat?” she asks, and I reply with a
cheerful “no,” yet the the elephant in the room, is always remembering that fateful night when I jokingly answered yes, and I became
irrelevant over her bedside.

Yet, I am the dog, when I **** her off – but it’s okay, for I know I’ll
simply mark my territory in that doghouse. Still, like a devoted pup,
my tail wags with joy at the sound of her voice. And if my attempts to
win her back after a quarrel make her sweet on me again – then I
suppose I’m a bee, and you, my darling, I call Honey.

The reality is, we’ve always recognized the humour in my antics –
and our love is animal, untamed and primal, yet beautifully
restrained by the fervour of our unwavering devotion to one another.

I knew it was late for me when a girl asked me to do
something romantic for her, and I suggested we play
checkers - and if she beat me, I'd know she made
the draft.🤭🤭🤣🤣🤣