I know you’re a virgin who didn’t know what men do with doors, what men do with buildings, what men do to doors, how men knock at doors, how men bark at doors to terrify it into running away, flaking away, rushing away to remove itself from its hinges, from its root, from its guardian angels.
I know you don’t know how men shake doors, shake buildings, how men lay waste its flowers, lay waste its nectars, how men burn buildings down through sex and romance.
You’re young with a voracious modulus for calculus; you’re probably naïve with the natives of Rome.
Your body will fall when men knocks,
Your storey will fall when men comes,
Your story will fall.
Virgins know nothing about the margin line on their body, about the club dancing on their body, about the road they carry alone.
Your mother tried tried beating your skin into wisdom, she warned you telling you to be careful with your building with many rooms that boys are fighting to paint and scratch to tear your laps apart.
Your mother warned you to be careful of whom you’re going to hawk in your heart, dreams, daydreams, memories and in your white and black.
She warned you never to give the key to a jerk, a pervert or a monkey who will eat your entire banana to leave your banana tree falling and crawling down to hell.
To leave your tree stroked with thunder, she warned you never to give the key to your body to snakes who rake all your body together to form a mountain to be burnt together using dynamite.
You’re the tree that trusted monkeys
to swing and provide home for them, feeding monkeys skipping what monkeys do to trees when hungry and thirsty.
Your mother didn’t tell you about the door to your body, the entrance to your beauty, the door to your heart that men knock to comma removing it off its hinges,stem,roots and branches to leave you alone in sawmills to be sawn into dusts and pebbles.
She didn’t tell you that men knock the door with their hammer to leave nails splashed and bored into your whole body parts like a sinner.
Men leave solid nails, sharp nails in your body like you’re Jesus Christ who saw the wickedness and evil in men to say it’s finished.
Men don’t know how to love; they knock doors to tear it apart leaving it uprooted into the pits of fire.
It’s finished when a man knocks at your door.
Paul Oluwafemi David is a Nigerian who fell in love with poetry watching the beauty of nature. He is a student of professor Wole Soyinka and Ben Okiri. Currently he is a student doctor at the college of human medicine university of Nigeria Nsukka with a strong mandible for the wonders of the universe. He has been published in AFRICANA, AFRICAN WRITER, PRAXIS MAGAZINE, PRIDE MAGAZINE NIGERIA, THREE DROPS and NANTY GREENS. His work is about to be published in TUCK, BANGALORE and KALAHARI. He writes poetry to places where words are begging for freedom.