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"drunkpoet" poems
Not so long ago we were made orphans                                                                                                                  Plucked form the family tree that grew us into a nation                                                                                                   Phobia struck us like cholera                                                                                                                                     Religion armed us against our brothers                                                                                                                         Leaders occupied with zero point agenda. . Blood, our special kind of rain                                                                                                                                         poverty, the only completed government project                                                                                                                                                                           Corruption, our newly designed flag                                                                                                                                And breath, our only hope. . Empty caskets call silently for our body                                                                                                                          As we shoved old bones to make room for new ones                                                                                                      Our pain covered with GREEN and WHITE paints                                                                                                                     Pain, pain all over and over again. . We've found a new home                                                                                                                                                         Back in the ruins, where we came from                                                                                                                               Let's mske our tents,and forget fishing traps                                                                                                          Because we might be here for an hundred while. _Drunkpoet_
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Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
Desert, our new home
Not so long ago we were made orphans                                                                                                                  Plucked form the family tree that grew us into a nation                                                                                                   Phobia struck us like cholera                                                                                                                                     Religion armed us against our brothers                                                                                                                         Leaders occupied with zero point agenda. . Blood, our special kind of rain                                                                                                                                         poverty, the only completed government project                                                                                                                                                                           Corruption, our newly designed flag                                                                                                                                And breath, our only hope. . Empty caskets call silently for our body                                                                                                                          As we shoved old bones to make room for new ones                                                                                                      Our pain covered with GREEN and WHITE paints                                                                                                                     Pain, pain all over and over again. . We've found a new home                                                                                                                                                         Back in the ruins, where we came from                                                                                                                               Let's mske our tents,and forget fishing traps                                                                                                          Because we might be here for an hundred while. _Drunkpoet_
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I've always wanted to design dreams Not to chase them like kids after butterflies in the fields But to decorate and further furnish them. . I've always wanted to mend dreams Not to be the one with the broken pieces of dreams But to repair them with the kisses of hope. . But just like a  chameleon nature changed her wardrobe And like the space in-between an anvil and an hammer, I lost my needle and tools to time. . Now, when we the sun comes up I host troubles Even when the sun goes down I host double of the prior troubles Only I hope, it won't be forever! . Balogun David Tolulope ©️drunkpoet
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Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 10:55 AM UTC
Pain kissed hopes
I've met maggots in my jar of salt Boomerang they say But quite interesting I found them . Like cattles, evil had roamed in my thoughts Devil they called me But really adventurous I found them . I had copulation with entangled women With barriers on them, like mango trees embargoed by landlords But more pleasurable they seemed . I tasted the venom of snakes They touched my soul like an airplane Because above all these, one kind of death will surely **** a man. . Balogun David Tolulope ©️drunkpoet
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Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 10:54 AM UTC
... Will surely **** a man .
Listen, I wish to spill my thoughts on the papyrus of your heart And to Crest my love on the skin of your emotions I want you to be the dream I will never wake up from And the only rain that will ever kiss my soil Listen, I wish to dive into the pool of your love That I may be drown in your deepest emotions I want you to crush me with the rock of your sympathy And from your fountain of desires I wish to have a drink Listen I wish to have my heart beating in your hands That my fingertips and ink will poetically publish our love story And have men praise me for my heroic love stupidity Listen, Just like Romeo, I wish to be breathtakingly foolish enough To die for you Because I know love is a little slice of insanity. . Balogun David Tolulope {drunkpoet}
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Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
The little slice of insanity
You are back? Again with your perfumed lies like roses To tell me you are wrong and probably sorry To lick up my tears with your apologies . You are back To pour me lies from the same lips I love to kiss Again to pin me to the wall with your lovely punchlines Reminding me of the world awaiting us . But today I will sit on this cushion And watch you use your magic on me I will wait for your lips to stop pouring out the lies Then I will say "get out! " . _To her who conquered my heart with beautiful lies_ . Drunkpoet {the poet that stinks with lines}
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Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 4:37 PM UTC
*Not today, not ever!*
. ... again tonight? Just like other thousands of faded nights Against the floor or the wall at the view of tender eyes Well, maybe to the bed if am so lucky In silence darkness, dead!, literally . Then I'd moan at your every breath To avoid another bruise with colored artwork You'd kiss me with your alcoholic soaked lips While my eyes stay dead open . Tracing the mole on my body Or the mole on my scar? My soul curses the youthful exuberance that made you my nightmare . {the poet that stinks with lines ⚟} Drunkpoet
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Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC
Altered altar