She’s the storm in the calm and the calm in the storm. Life is in her right hand, but death is in her left. Sweetness is in her right buttock, but chaos is in her left. Honey is in her right breast, but poison is in her left.
She’s right-handed, until it’s broken, until the wrong words are chosen, until she’s robbed of her token. Oh, what the hell is “soft-spoken”?
“Yes, you better be joking.” That Queen is a fiery ocean. You dare not hurt her children; she keeps her cold heart frozen.
She meows and strides before she roars, like a humble bureau-cat. She marks her territory; she does it just like that. If you trample on her like the people do on mats, with the class and style of an aristo-cat, and the power and poise of a big lioness-cat, she tears you into many bloody parts, just like that.
The only way to be a man is to not be human. Don’t cry; be sad, but don’t say why. Don’t feel; hurting someone is the best way to heal. Don’t express yourself when you do feel, and if you must, do it with clenched fists.
The only way to be seen as strong is to insist that you’re never wrong, and if a woman isn’t under your absolute control, you can’t be a man on your own- you can’t possibly be whole.
If you ever think you were wrong, you’re right. If you ever think you did bad, you’re doing good. When you broke the flower vase, you had to take care of your cuts, but you have quickly forgotten that my home was shattered too.
A dead flower needed her vase. A dead flower would begin to decay soon. A red flower died because of you. A red flower died because she loved you.
You let someone hold you, and because of their carelessness, or because they’re just tired of how heavy you can be sometimes, or for “no” reason, they drop you. Your heart’s broken. Your vase is destroyed, shattered into many pieces that you can’t possibly put back together on your own. They say “oh! I was cut! She’s in the wrong and I’m innocent.” Well, what about the poor flower? What about this poor flower? You got cut. Yes. You got cut but I died. Sorry to you but adieu to me. I don’t bleed, I’m a flower, but I can get very badly hurt too. Also, I’ve not been resting in perfect peace; I’ve not even been resting in one piece.
Ládékojú is life; Ládékojú is death. Before she puts death in your mouth, she places life in your hands. She is loving, sensual, sweet, seductive and kind, but she’s not as meek as they make her seem. She’s the gentlest but the most dangerous of goddesses- the one you don’t want to mess with.
When she is badly offended or hurt, she laughs uncontrollably.
She walks by the offender and makes goo-goo eyes; she shakes her buttocks and sways her hips. She walks to the offender and lets him see her beautiful, perky breasts.
She kisses him and places her head on his chest, falls on her knees and licks her lips; she holds his penis. Then she closes her eyes and licks the tip, round, like a lollipop, and when he’s ready, she bites into the penis as if it were a hot dog, and cuts it into small parts. She gets up, laughs again, adjusts her head gear and strides away, proudly…