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A LETTER TO HONESTY

Dear Femi,

I can feel a hand in my brain as I write this lines
devoid of the typical Capitalist mentality;
Beyond a marketable artistic preparation
Aimed at the stars of excellent poetic credence.
So while children in their eagerness
try to pick bones out of this cooked egg
I hid this in an envelope just for you.

Femi,
I am free in the air like the eagle,
Yet stocked between a web
And yoked within the confines of my heart,
Without air within my lungs
As I send you this letter with eyes swollen,
Because many oceans gather for
The doubt that tries to cast my doubts.

Femi,
I have the mark of Cain
A fugitive,
Because when you faced Time
I traveled to Oblivion.
When you face Life
like gold through Furnace
Will you not see the back of a let down?
Typical I'm a let down, when I try to oppress,
I fall flat and I fail.

But you Femi deserves better.
You that understands that
the sugarcane is sweeter at its joints.
You that knows that
the best way to eat an elephant in your path
is by cutting it bit by bit,
You a selfless self, a song in a clef
with the honey tongue whose tender voice
pull men out of their self inflicted afflictions.

Femi,
Only a fool tests the depth of the river with both feet.
A chick that will grow into a cock
can be spotted the very day it hatches,
But I am afraid that I am made for the claws of the hawk.
Old habits die hard they say,
A tiger cannot hide its stripes.
I trust myself to distrust itself
That even projecting my next steps
Holds a heavy fog
between this page and the next chapter of my life
Being the skilled writer's suspense and tension.

Femi,
What if beyond my wise foolery your God exists,
And divinely sculpts the script of your life
Do you still trust me to be his bone of contention
For such a youthful purposeful life?
In as much as I hate to believe,
I know that destiny has a tailor in us
to fashion life into our own designs,
And you're the most skilled of us artists,
And know too well how
to pick stones from the rice like a good wife
Knowing the spot of a leopard is not his imperfection.

Femi,
I am not afraid of you melting into my warm embrace,
Or your eyes seeking answers between my face,
I'm afraid that I dodge your gazes,
And stand before you with both hands hidden to the back.
I'm afraid of you missing the spot you're used to
placing your head before you dream.
I am not afraid of the man I am in a sneaker and Jean,
I am afraid of the man that I see when I look at myself in the mirror,
Femi,
I am afraid that I leak like water in the palms.

Of course permit me to eat words like roasted yam with palm oil.
This is a hard nut to crack,
And for you this pill might be hard to swallow.
But if the critic comes knocking with a thinner understanding,
Tell him to go learn my language and culture,
For today I have chosen to be free like the wind.

Call me Esau with the hairs,
The notorious son of the father,
A perfect imperfection.
But I'll rather be an Esau than an Issac,
A faulty Truth than an infallible Lie.
Or you can take me as the Python
that is afraid of its tail,
And you the dog that is afraid
to wag its tail in front of its owner.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 
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