I had so many options
Sleeping pills in my hand
Evil thoughts in my head
Sangoma's mixed potions
A rope hanging on top of my head
I could have rolled down the stairs
Or took a knife and stabbed it into my chest
But I couldn't.
My mother cried when she gave birth to me
I can't watch her cry at my funeral
I thought of what she always say to me
That "I hate how I raised you,but I love what I raised"
That I should do better for my daughter
And not yet be her ancester.