I will not even try to justify my incapability to love or care for another human being.
I refuse the idea of holding on to something that is only a guest in my miserable life, the impunities that are somehow mounting up to tear my wall down.
This guilt I will live with, my eternal struggle, my constant weakness that I have had to battle ever since I learnt to… car…e
Even my words are like a broken record, a song of misery that keeps on repeating itself just to remind me of the pain I endured for what seemed like a millennium, it is as though it is trying to comfort me, to lick those wounds I have plastered with glue and paper which is why they still hurt.
Darling try to understand that I will not let this destructive infectious stranger to lead me into troubled waters, I have been there, I have built a well with those tears all because of what you are trying to make me feel.
Love is nothing but a four letter word that lends itself well to every story told from mother to child to the world. What is it about that word that makes the world go into such haywire, like a child who cannot control his hormones all because he does not understand these feelings he’s caught up in
this poem appears in our print quarterly number eight, Dear South Africa.
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