She comes bearing gifts and apologies
Giving love out of guilt
From my days as an embryo, I knew her
Whispers in my phone past bedtime
Climbing through the window past curfews
Teenage angst and my insecurity shows
‘I hate you, I hate you’
Kitchen turned to a battlefield and words hurt more than pelted bullets.
The ungrateful birthdays and wrapped presents.
Did I grow too fast?
How wonderous you saw me as I saw myself.

You said ‘I am the essence of your being’
So much pressure to be
I push, you pull
Flashed memories
I pressed my chest upon yours and held tightly
Tears appear without warning
How selfish I was



Joseph Ajilore is a writer and the author of The Title Is Not Important. He is currently based in Bristol.