True Friendships Are Dead. Poem by Thabani Khumalo

I went and asked to get into play
with a beautiful little girl I loved and chose.
Along the swinging heights of exhilarating play.
I tripped and fell on my knees enough to make me bleed.

My mother heard my wail afar against her char.
She ran her run to the woman next door to avenge my pain
and ripped her face with a kitchen knife.
From that day going on and coming of this age,
I chose to not choose for the world to be safe for all her sake.

True friendships are dead.
Everyone acts like they don't know why.