E. R. Smith, 2018
On the day he knew I was conceived,
he ordered mom to be rid of me.
Mom said so, when I asked of him.
Hurt, burned, like a belt on wet skin.
Too true for a young mind.
Wondered on the crime,
of which adulterer wanted no evidence.
I guess his family was chosen,
I wasn’t invited.
Treachery formed a warrior,
for mother and self.
Thrice as good, driven.
Living evidence to my right, life.
Smothered my mother in accolades.
Assured her she chose well, me.
One sided destiny. A survivor.
Bronx Beyond Borders 