My mamma is a lecturer

Yet you say I have no teacher

Because you think I’m still in Junior High

Your belief is risible but I’m honoured

I don’t have the luxury for fatuous arguments

Dad says I’m the paragon of his beauty

Though you have visited the pentagon

You still don’t know how to draw a polygon

When I speak of my identity, you call it temerity

I know you’re trying to cage the lion

Maybe you didn’t check the tribe