MY CUTE WHITE PILLOW

By Flavian Mupemo Jnr

One step at a time, I was like Jordin Sparks on a battlefield.

Two were three much, I was only six said Dad.

I could play in the mud; and certainly none would think I was mad,

I was just a lad; at least that was my shield.

I remember going home dirty, all sweaty. But momma did not beat me-she hugged me.

Even though she wore white clothes, closer to white as snow, she hugged me.

With a passion and love warmer than summer, she held me.

Took me by my tiny flabby hands and she bathed me.

Then kissed me by my forehead, without a word and gave me a cute white pillow,

I got sad. Out of guilt, I promised I would never play in the mud and that I would cherish that pillow.

So every time I returned home from school, I would throw my bag,

Jump on my bed and give my pillow a big hug.

I remember the days I wished for a Santa; or anybody Claus.

Anybody; who would see me as better than a loss.

 See; I was genetically incapacitated, my school mates would mock my ego,

I would grieve inside and couldn’t wait to go home, just to cry on my pillow…

And here I am, all physically grown-up taking two steps at a time,

Spending on bottles every of my dime.

Saying my age is now legal,

 I am the star of this show never getting hit back like Steven Siegel I now got a big ego.

Saying I’d rather be an immature chimney, for the cigar smoke,

Than be an over-mature vessel, for some wise talk.

Attracted to those adult-content websites, neglecting Christ.com,

Using my tech-updated phone, so I am really browsing Phone-E-cation.com.

But then I remember my pillow, that cute white pillow momma gave me.

I was muddy, but she hugged me,

Sweaty and she bathed me,

Then she gave me that cute white pillow.

You see Christ can take you the way you are, you don’t need to be clean before you go to him,

Turn to him in your mess. He’s the light that never goes dim.

The only one to make you clean and give you a white pillow to look after,

Your faith, the only comfort when life mocks you and tries to rob you of your laughter.

 You deserve to be jolly like Angelina, need a strong will like smith,

Inherent with smiles; not gnashing of teeth.

I ain’t talking about that building over there but let God be your centre,

Subject your medulla oblongata coupled with your hemispherical brain section-let him be your mentor.

One step at a time, two is three much,

Four I was next to five-I was six,

When momma brought me to Christ,

Who then gave me a cute, white and lovely pillow.