for my parents*

This is my story
my life,unselfishly
given-hours of
pain, all for a
(pathetic) pink bundle
of skin.
and a hand, (ten times)
bigger than my own,
to steady myself when
balancing on the tyres
outside the school.
My independance, drawn out of solitary days
amongst peers who did not know i existed,
and the same unselfish hand, ever there to
push my hair behind my ears and tell
me i was beautiful.
and now, my identity, written between the lines of the books that i read
and on the face belonging to the hand, that is my existance.