Having XX wasn’t my fault, 

But they blamed me and mom a lot. 

My own tried to get rid of me, 

I wondered why couldn’t they let me be. 

They buried me though, I was breathing, 

The anger in them was seething. 

Lest they knew that I was a seed, 

That would over time lead. 

I was dug out soon, 

By a saviour who came like a boon. 

Getting a new leash of life, 

I grew, with education as my knife. 

I went back to my birthplace, 

Saw them face to face. 

They wondered how I knew them all, 

Till I narrated my story which they did recall. 

Surprised they were on how I survived, 

Recouped and revived. 

They failed to realize I was a seed, that would bloom, 

Amidst the darkness that did loom. 

Photo by Brooke Lark on Unsplash