You Think Wrong Of Me Poem by Chima Ononogbu

I'm a dove with a face of a hulk,
But you think wrong of me!

You think of me a little too cocky, contumacious;
A little too full of ego pinions, which you say
flap around my footprints strewn across
spaces, landscapes, I once had occupied.

You say of my voice thundering as your fear,
You say of my gait breaking the grounds and quaking your gaiety,
My name trots byways of your imagination as a buggy of horror,
But you think wrong of me!

Your frightened perception of me springs from your demur
To see those cues from whence arises my peculiarity.
Cues wreathed in pearls and flowers
Of humanity, of humility, of compassion.

You blame me for my piquant masculinity.
I'm of a piece with my wide shoulders; my taut ambitions,
which rock as a sea of gentle spirit,
Yet hard as they're soft to tote and lull a baby.

But you think wrong of me!

You croak at my blackness as grotesquely beautiful,
Which you say eats you up as devouring critters,
And to behold it, to you a Sisyphean striving,
Yet reminds you of a tree cut down for its twig is giant;
And of a star cast of shrouds to dent its fulgurant light.

But you think wrong of me!
But you think wrong of me!