Retirement Plan

Precious Chukwudi

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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Comments +

Comments2

  • sorenbarrett

    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.

    • Precious Chukwudi

      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.

    • Poetic Licence

      A very sad and touching being used and hurt by those who should love and protect you, is the worse kind of pain, beautifully expressed

      • Precious Chukwudi

        It truly is a pain that leaves a different kind of scar.
        Thank you for reading.

        • Poetic Licence

          You are very welcome



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