When I was six, I read a Tswana poem about an orphaned boy. The book stuck to my mind, Or maybe how everyone around him treated the dogs better than him. I realised that the reason this book made sense, is that I have always seen me as that orphan, unlike the boy, my Dad did not die from a war nor did my mother get killed by a snake after gathering firewood. I know where my mother is, I know where my Dad is, they are just not a part of my life. They had a choice, and with a million reasons spinning through my mind, I have to fight with the thought of how unwanted I am by the very people who brought me to the world. I have to learn about my greatness through conversations with my mind that leaves me tired all the time, because my mind is ruthless, it can shred me to pieces before anyone ever says anything. I have had 20 something years, trying to convince the people in my life that I am worthy of life or rather try to convince myself that I am deserving…
L. L. Fleming