I tried to write my unborn daughter a letter
A letter full of hope and admiration
But the inspiration dwindled like a failing candle
As the darkness flooded my perception
I tried to seek counselling from the people who to talk to God
They tried to charge me for their services
So I went directly to the source to air my grievances
Hand stretched out, waiting for rain in the dry desert
Harsh reality
I took the pain I acquired from this cruel world
And exposed it on A4 paper and laptops
In the form of written words and soliloquies
The tears came afterwards
The heavens remained silent
So was I cursed or blessed
When my unborn daughter entered my reality
In my arms, a symbol of pure innocence and joy
But I realised even my brain was the enemy
As I woke up in my bed, surrounded by emptiness


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