‘It will end in tears’ my parents condemned.
I knew better, I sought to prove them wrong,
An endeavour in which, I certainly failed.
How I wish I could re-run those years.
Their predicted ‘tears’ became unbearable reality,
Still I persisted, my mission to prove them wrong.
With bruises, to my pride and then to my body
I battled on: the life I had chosen.
My reasons and excuses, cleverly repeated when,
Their telephone questions would ask me ‘Why?’
‘I can deal with it’ I’d reply, with fake sincerity
‘I have to keep trying, for my beautiful boy’
Who knows what would have been, if I had listened.
I didn’t you see, I struggled to prove them wrong,
I proved them correct, with rivers of my tears,
The rivers’ now, thankfully, run dry.
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