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
