I lived in the pocket of empathy
…always wearing spectacles of sympathy
I wore the clothes of a mother
…as a child, and paid all bills like a father
From the stone quarry to street hawking
From a maidservant to chop bar cleaning
I did it all for sixty toes
…without seeing foes
I’m now at the point of solivance
II
I choose me
The woman housing the little girl forced to act tough
I now choose me
The homosapien who has taken care of all
…with no hands to catch her fall
I choose me
The magnanimous body which saw to all
…but her needs
I choose me
The me who is from nothing to something
…hoping to be everything
III
And none can throw a stone of blame
And push complains to rain a shame
…on my very being
…which now wants to be seen
…by me
For as a hanging thread fell to rot
… because the knitted cloth in aggression forgot
…it held it seams together
So must a heart on a good path, seek its well-being
…to be able to live longer
IV
As every step leads to a mysterious grave
So must every thought think of memories in need of a save
Oh how pathetic it’ll be
To be whisked by the hawk of death
…like a helpless chick, only to think from your birth
…all that you did for all
But find no grace and pampering you showered on yourself
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © October 12, 2026.
