Me Poem by Toyo Esuola

I may be called a poet, using words like a painter uses a brush
Or perhaps a hedonist, enjoying every moment in a life of lush

Could be mistaken as a professional, my academic mind analyzing all
Some might see me as a loafer, bouncing around like a ball

Once I have been referred to as an athlete always victorious in a sport
Yesterday heard a damsel whisper “hey stud” my pink ball you should port

Think my enemies will sometimes feel am kind of proud,
neighbours have generally concluded that am loud

My family sure as hell know am sane, admires have likened me to be vain

Of all the descriptions in same dialect, one thing is for sure am certainly not perfect