The boy I love says, we can’t be out in the open together,
Those words lash me with a pain akin to a whip’s sting.
The very whip at the beck of those in my father’s land,
flailing against the innocence of effeminacy.
A world of goody-goodys built on the dust of broken barbies.
Olúwasèyífúnmi Adédayọ̀ writes because he feels the need to, every time. His work has found homes in Brittle Paper, and Entropy squared (100 words). He tweets @aboycalled_seyi.