This is your world with its perfect cultures and picture perfect families.
This is your world that would be in perfect tuning fork pitch were it not for me.
You walk into my space and you do not see me.
I have a heart of gold that is slowly turning to lead.
Your abrasive words are eating into my safety wall that I have built for years
Like waves of the sea carving into a rock.
You ask me to apologise for being here and for who I am,
But I can’t, for I don’t know what to apologise for!
Do I apologise for breathing, for being conceived?
Frank Malaba © 2012