Con
That the word to describe us,
Gender alike,
We sought to have ends met,
To some love it's,
To others material thing,
While to some others just sexual satisfaction,
Either way,
We take our mark seriously,
Like every con man on job,
Becoming one with the new identity,
Maybe sometimes it too late,
Late to tell who we really are,
To who we pretend to be,
Some ply this route so long,
The road to self discovery,
Becomes another form of pretense,
Telling little lies,
faking emotions, feelings,
Doing what often make our mark(s)
Give what we need without the need to ask.
Either way at the end we all are con,
And we all have been conned at one point,
Yet we never stop wishing to be con (ed),
Cause what is life without con,
What life without love,
Love is con,
Con is love,
So ask yourself are you a con? Or a mark?
By Olajide Oladipo
