For the first time in a long time, I pen down my thoughts.
I have always felt I dwell too much in sadness,
what once was my escape is now my greatest dread.
I fear that once I grab my pen,
I will lose the present,
and sadness will become my meal for the day.
So, like every other day,
I lay on my bed,
let my stomach churn,
and silently gulp.
Who would have thought it would start this way?
I thought I had healed.
I thought I was past it.
But after that call,
after hearing that they say they are doing me a favour by taking care of themselves,
I realised something
I was born as a retirement plan.
It made me question the whole display,
the charade,
if that is what love is.
I cannot deny the sacrifices.
But I also cannot ignore
how it made me feel.
Precious Chukwudi
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Author:
Precious Chukwudi (
Offline) - Published: May 26th, 2025 03:46
- Category: family
- Views: 6
Offline)
Comments1
Being used is bad enough but being used by one's own family is far worse. A sad poem that cries out in a sense of helpless rage.
Exactly. Being used is one thing but when it is by the people who should protect you it cuts differently.
Thank you for reading, Soren.
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