The foundation creaked,
Whereas the roof crumbled in,
And the walls shook with much agitation.
The whole place being masked,
Camouflaged with the taste and decadence of woodwork;
The woodwork of lies and avoidance.
And so the furniture came in one by one,
Covering up the unpainted areas, cracked walls and fidgety pillars.
The house and I being much of the same;
I remember how she first found out about me,
How she cried herself to sleep every dusk till dawn for six weeks,
How I was labelled as the ‘Unthinkable Mistake’,
How somehow my existence was a mere fable because I wasn’t fully developed.
The house and I being much of the same;
I remember how he disregarded DNA and defied the laws of genetics,
How he financed for my disappearance,
How he acknowledged me as ‘IT’,
And how I was never in his life plan.
The house and I being and I being much of the same;
I remember how the unethical specialist flaunted over his title,
How he bargained for the price of taking my life away,
How he promised that my disappearance would be smooth,
And how the agent would destroy me without any pain.
In the end,
I too are;
The ugly mark on the wall,
The unstable foundation,
And the crack on the tile,
Because they cover the injustice of immorality,
With the furniture of abortion.
Mercy Teko
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