Through the eyes of the public

Mama,
When I grow up,
I want to be a terrorist.
Steer verbal airplanes into deaf twin towers,
Trample on sunshine dictionaries and thesaurus flowers
In the terminology of going green.
Said,
I want to be a mean machine,
Steam religious convicts with iron,
Dine like judas at your last suppers-heathens
Claiming 
To be the Messiah.
What if I told you God is an imperialist,
That he colonized my fleshly desires,
Thus inaugurated as Governor of Realms Empire,
I wish to wire my psyche
To be an assassin of kingdoms with a small letter k
Say,
I want to march into heavenly banks, claim "my inheritance"
Since I was told I’m an heir to the Throne.
I want to orchestrate juvenile crime scenes
Script productions of angels gyrating uninterruptedly around
You’re Majesty
Instead of your Honour,
i am honoured to be a servant
To you Son-capital S.
Mama,
I want to wash pride’s feet
Meet joy, introduce him to peace, converse with love
Think about kindness, daydream about dreams
Being accompanied to fruition by visions and see her escort
My will to God’s destiny
And together walk down the aisle of lifetime fidelity
Because
He’s been faithful to me already,
When i hadn’t even said “i do”
I want to kidnap despair and ask for hope as ransom
Hold addictions hostage
Until addictions delivers me
What if I told you, I am xenophobic?
I wish to click feathers as pens
Laugh as romantics
Become immigrants- setting them alight,
Laugh even harder as foreign tongues burn in retaliation
I want to dispute existentialism as reconciliation
To creation
I want to be controversy- vacuuming the dirt under your carpets
Yes sir,
I even want to be the unbearable stink under your armpits.
Mama,
I want to siege warfare
Be instrumental colleges,
Have you schooled, intellectually fine-tuned
Wearing validity uniforms
Have you abide by purpose, not luck, purpose code of conducts.
Duct tape your mouths, so your voices are mere crosses on ballot sheets
And have you ostracised for wanting change.
Mama,
I want reality expansions and fantasy contractions
Rebelling in the listeners’ subconscious mansion.
I want to be a medical sergeant
Release warrants that’ll permit me
To scribble infirmity all over your well being
Prescribe you sleeping pills under false diagnoses
Paralyse your fighting spirit like multiple-sclerosis,
Ultimately pin your life down to a wheelchair,
Have you drive off a cliff somewhere, under the conviction in your ears
That NO ONE cares.
Let me not mention the tabernacles and sanctuaries
I aspire to be
Laying my altar, where the truth won’t falter
But spirits and principles will collide.
I want to be innocent nursery rhymes,
Of jack and Jill and Mary had a little lamb,
Or alternatively be that rhyme where, children clip hands and spin around in circles,
In the name of a plague.
And
In the same breath
I want to be magnetic attractions, nuclear bombs
Tested on masses
To prove whole, scientific fractions.
I wish to sanction light bulbs to expose witchcraft.
Carve a plus sign wooden tree with a naked figure,
Bleeding incongruously,
And sing,
Not to any particular harmony.
As Calvary tides sweep worldly sand castles
But let intercession footprints remain
Be captivated at sea as waves engulfing rocks
Waltz and cha-cha in praise.
Mama,
On the horizon I was surprised to find,
Tiny boats stay afloat and titanic ships sink!
And in the midst of it all,
I want to be a valiant peter stepping out
To meet Him…