The Question Marks Book Spa Otatade Okojie

There is something strange
About the young one
This young seedling
Lopsided grin
Fringe
Hooded eyes
Masking a sea of discontent
An Opium of Longing
Something odd about
The veins like
tentacles
This Octopus
needing to be loved
Yet so desolate
an Island
A separate being
There is something
strange about the way
Every action
is a question mark
As though she would
Quiz her own
reflection
And her shadow
would trudge off
in Confusion
It is puzzling
To be lost
In a skin
That belongs
To you