If it were my choice, we’d still be strangers
I wouldn’t have her inside me, tormenting my cells,
Gallivanting like she owns the place.
I wouldn’t even dare befriend her.
If it were my choice,
The needle prick that shattered my dreams
Would have been the thing that kick-started them.
The news after the prick would not have made me grieve-
Believing that life was admittedly over,
But the thing sharpened my mind,
Opening my eyes to the reality of life.
A guideline.
Kind of like a formula to life
If it were my choice,
I wouldn’t have chosen to have my flesh embrace my bones
The person I see in the mirror wouldn’t be me.
I wouldn’t have you delight in my pain
Labelling me as I count my days in twos and threes,
In life, and death, and pills
As they fade away like footsteps washed away by the wind.
This HIV that I have isn’t me but it’s in me.
If it were my choice,
I’d be affected and not infected
I wouldn’t have you labelling me and treating me like a dead, yet alive, somebody.
I wouldn’t be even wishing that I was a leaf to twirl and whirl care free
Because between you and me, care and love are a thing of the past.
Full in my bag of history.
Over rated that is.
But it wasn’t my choice-
I was born with her.
She and I were entwined
Firmly in my mother’s womb
And she had an adventure in my system before I was even born.
A friend quite unfriendly.
But my sister was forced to befriend her,
With a gun held to her head,
Clothes ripped off
A womanhood stolen.
He gave her to her.
It wasn’t by choice, was it?
So let’s not stigmatise.