Strong in my foetal memory,

Lies knowledge of distress.

Of wrinkled, horrid, prune like home,

Where others took the best.

From puny, feeble blood supply,

Umbilically, I starved.

In dried up shrivelled carapace,

My small new life was carved.

Within that worn and wrinkled home,

I'm sure my feet'll kick it through.

I muse upon fragility,

And wonder at my birth anew.

Siblings stole the freshness that,

I should have had for me.

Birth's feat'll be a burden such,

As none should have to see.

My dad would not have taken,

Second hand tattoos.

But then he chose to impregnate,

A womb that's four times used.

They conspired to create me,

In a place unfit for one.

Bound to befeat allegiance,

Between parents and their son.