yellow

Family is trash and a bottle of water.

When she opened her legs, I knew it was happening, her breast was like hot chocolates drank in a rush, one that you hope doesn’t finish- she was smooth, smoother than most girls I have met, she said she wanted more and I was ready. I crave Lagos, like vagina or vodka, a way that should be explorative, one that should satisfy me, I want to walk by the beach with my hand in my hair, pulling through every stride, I  crave Lagos like the local jollof rice my grandma use to make, she uses local Maggi and lots of onions and dry fish, the palm oil had a different aroma, my grandma was a genius in the kitchen, why do people get old?

I hate yellow and rules.

I watch my mother scream and nag at me for disobeying a rule she so long protected, rules are regulations, law or maybe guidelines. A regulating principle, something that keeps you in order.