Bastard child

"In the Caribbean, almost
everyone is a bastard child"
she said amidst conversation..

and I laughed,
and then I left
thinking about that December
when I arrived at my father's
house fresh faced
and full of forgiveness

the last time a man
held my hand, he did
it after touching me everywhere
else - he asked me if
I trusted him
and lust filled I said yes

but truth was I didn't
I am an affair child
the manifestation of cheating
the prove and the blue print

I look a lot like my father,
my mother doesn't let me forget
this - she wants me to seek him,
talk to him, ask him for things

but when the man who created
you, let years pass by between
phone calls, you realize that
some men make mistakes
and never meet the lesson

nowadays, my father is modern
and warm. He's on Facebook
sharing my poems and
claiming he is proud of me
my mother is on what's app doing
the same..

and I,
I am in Europe with his last name
and her skin color

knowing that this summer,
I'm going to be sleeping
in the house of my father's wife
trying to forget that my existence
may have hurt her, but
it didn't destroy her marriage

maybe we'll look at each other
and only see resilience