Humouristic.
Here's a poem for yall guys;

"He told me i had a mind of a saint,
hands of an artist.
I was told that i would get married at 26,
ironically that date of my birth date.
give birth to my first child at 28.
Then soon my child would grow,
as i grow older into my years.
Following on menopause, divorced and tired.
Slowly i would die, internally.
and i die in my sleep
as i have my last nap in the garden."

-Z