Style Poem by Clinton Chinedu

Everyone has their own separate way
An opinion each person has the right to say
A path they can all call their own
Just as all have their ups and downs
To the populous is given a special smile and frown
All these features heaped in each person like a pile
Others prefer to informally call it their own style

It is called their style
It's called their style

A certain tall man always in a suit
Looking like a just guy who has never touched loot
Talking and speaking like the French
Has a peculiar smile while on the park bench
Puts on a crisp beard and eats hot lunch

I like your style
Young man I just like your style

Fat old lady at the market seems to talk a lot
Sitting by the streets and selling some carrot
So funny and believing looks quite gullible
Not too fancy simple, not afraid but humble
Never stops annoyingly talking when I'm around
Maybe that's just why I like being around

I like your style
Old lady I just like your style

Young female banker reminds me of a model
So fit like every morning she jumps the hurdle
Doesn't take nonsense, no nonsense woman
Sometimes I wonder if she's even human
Always walking around dressed so smart
She just simply earns a spot in my heart

I like your style
Miss. Model woman I just like your style

Little boy still at high school
Bouncing around and always feeling cool
Wearing on his neck a bunch of gold chains
Swaging and snubbing people like they're a pain
Yet at the top of his class still making the A
Respected him when I thought of him at my vacay

I like your style
Teen boy I just like your style

Living my life trying to surpass my hero
Also trying my best not to end up a zero
Still going through some tough processes
Choose to see no failure in life only successes
I fancy myself a bit of an optimist
One thing is sure I'm no one's antagonist

I like my style
I simply like my style