Brought Love

I am a walking disappointment,
a wound they keep reminding me of.
To earn their love,
I must bring trophies,
ranks, medals,
cars shining like proof,
Become their retirement plan
When I’m still learning to breathe.

Why can’t they love
The unpolished, ordinary me?
Why must affection
Be something I buy?
Why is love a receipt,
never a heartbeat?

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They convinced me —
their future rests on my shoulders,
my youth traded for their comfort.
But if love was too expensive
for them to afford,
what was the point of children?

Not for companionship,
not for care,
just for flesh,
just for sex —
but there are condoms for that.

Every child deserves parents,
but not every parent
deserves the gift of raising a child.