My Poetry. Torn.

I cannot live like this for long,
Not being able to have my own child;
I often dream of what might be,
If I had not been so wild.

The opportunity came for me,
I couldn't resist this chance;
Perhaps this would be the end of me,
A phase, a passing glance.

Erika was the only life I had known,
I couldn't forgive what I had done;
Her parents desperately frantic—
I had to cut and run.

Five years passed, Erika was now twelve,
She never knew who she really was;
I was the only mum she knew,
The woman she proudly applauded.

I would have to die with this secret,
It tainted me day and night;
The pain I amassed from this nightmare,
Knowing it was always in sight.

The Police were all over my home,
Her father bewildered in shock;
What was happening to my family?
The open door was now going to lock.

I did not care for her mom's feelings,
I was only interested in me;
I knew my life would be happy,
It's all I imagined it to be.

But now I am alone with my thoughts,
In a room filled with bars;
I never imagined just how they would feel,
Coping with emotional scars.

Erika is now a young lady,
Living with her real mom and dad;
And do I feel ashamed of my crime?
For a while I did not, I was glad.

© William Sinclair Manson 2025