Floetic Thoughts ( My kind of Man)

I’m storing my feelings in a cauldron.

Stashing my thoughts in rhythmic patterns

of beats and vibrations, art, colors and verse,

of lyrics and poetry for a man whose presence

tells a story- a hue too complex to mention.

Flesh of my flesh, a piece of his rib.

Muscle that beats to a combined rhythm

resonating to my desired algorithm.

A man who appreciates inner beauty and would

see through my external facade, rising above

stereotypes and societal labels to love me for

who i am. Without seeking perfection,

understanding that i am only human

and that facial beauty fades over time.

A man who would still hold my hand when my bones

get weary, narrow and depleted – rising up to catch

me when i fall, directing me through my clumsy steps.

Being my eyes when my vision fails, holding my hand

easing distance, showing me the light.

My own visual lens through the dark, cold world.

Directing my path, safe from puddles to ease the hurdles.

A man who would still run his fingers through my hair

when my nappy strands have lost texture, color and luster

and my hair line has receded imitating the look of an old

Voodoo Queen living in the mountains.

Loving me all the while, making love to those strands,

appreciating the greys that come with aging gracefully.

A man who would still hunger for me like a ripened fruit

when the soil in my garden lies barren- and my skin is

filled with wrinkles, aging spots and freckles.

Treasure the withered rose, deriving pleasure all the while

Lust still with diminishing vigor and youth…

Kiss me like it was the first time;

deriving joy in bliss, relinquishing memories of our youth.

A man who would be my memory card through the years

when my brain reeks of mental impotence.

Like a sharpened pencil, quick to rise through scribbles

on parchments of paper- and i will be his resplendent ability.

My own blissful haven between reality and the flowing

absurdity that comes with age.

Being my man all the while,

appreciating the changes that come with age,

struggles that come with keeping our fire burning.

Loving me, seething for me…

A man who understands being human,

and that we are all prone to make mistakes-

maturity manifested in handling disagreements

strength in hardships, stashing his ego.

The importance of forgiveness,

and the relevance of communication.

For this man -I’d be his Woman,

Respect and love him till his knees grow weak,

his teeth start falling out, his sight fails – tolerating

him when he gets grumpy, for old age has its perks.

His soft cushion hugs through the cold

His comfort and strength when everything is old-

As his lover and friend; woman, wife, Queen –

Catering to him still…

Listening to his wisdom…

Appreciating him still…

Staying loyal to him-

Making love to him

Hustler to his needs

Lover for life

Soldier to the end.



Author: AfroetryC

I am an African woman and a mother to a precious little angel. I love to use the term "Afro-floetic Queen" mostly to describe my poetry and my roots. I love poetry...art, soul music and inspirational bits of knowledge to offer advice and counseling to those who need it. I can be very witty, straight forward but fun. Ha. ha... A colorful perception of the world - expressed in my poetry. I want to inspire people with my Poetry...give them hope, while also advising them. Life is a learning process and i am happy when one of my pieces directly affects or inspires one of my readers. Let's take a detour around experience, and let me fill your minds with sweet poetic juices.... Note: Just changed my user name from FloetryC to AfroetryC because the latter is more personal and describes my Spoken Word Poetry better.

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