By Phila Nonkelela
Born out of a wedlock, I am a
product of the sperm a condom
hated for being conceived, like it
was my fault she was deceived.
She knows no love of a man,nor
love to a child, and because her
womb is the one that bears me, I
fall victim to her regrets. Like part
of her believes the more she loves
me not, the less connected she is
to his lies.
He said he loved her,but with
me came bruises and fists on her
Suddenly he was an artist
drawing traces of hurt on her body.
and every scar marks my presence.
Abortion wasn’t an option,neither
was adoption so she thought
“am sure i’ll love her as time goes by” but that
was just some self-deception.
and with everyday that passes, she
loves me not.