Gorgeous Poem by Thabani Khumalo

They may prate the contagious fouls of lunacy,
They may negate kindness to piggyback discourtesy. They may slog us to a comma of the mind. They take us to toil in scattered separation and compel us to shrivel alone in isolation. They call us foul names of profound magnitudes of hate: the vile that separates between the spirit and the soul - and project the mind out from the body.

They strip the skin of its rich qualities
And drive the natural pride of man insane. They compel him to haste after the shadows they manufacture for him. They relegate the standard of a woman to a thug in devolution, but I believe what I believe in my heart to be true.

I am, altogether, a man of distinction. You'd wonder how I do or what I use to find stance in the object of their teachings. I'd consider how things are going for me and regard all those that engender in me a static smile. I have an entertainment of beautiful women, they are somewhere beneath the blurring radar, they are gorgeous women of adorable beauty: beasts of the myth - the repulsively scary look on the side of beauty - the model of pose. For this reason alone, inspite-of the tarnished propaganda about our skin, I am convinced that I am a gorgeous guy.