Gifted not lent
Yet I feel like a liability to the world
My soul feels borrowed
And my mom?
I feel like I owe
For much more than I can count
“We are given
A gift more bitter than limonin
While its purpose is greater than insulin and Ritalin”
Every time those words fall from her mouth
into my palms
I feel as though she is creating rhythm
While spitting nonsense
Siwaphiwe
Blessings came in cages
Facade with lessons
And I am left struggling
To catch your attention
While you doubt my intentions.
Siwaphiwe is the art of drought
She is dry
From the inside out
With no true values
To her heart
Yet you call upon her name
Like she brings light
A miracle in disguise
While she stares at herself in disgust.
Siwaphiwe,
It’s a name I would say is nice
But for me, it will never sound right.
This was written by our contributing writer, Siwaphiwe Matha.
The image is a selfie of our writer, Siwaphiwe Matha, taken of herself.
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