its one of those days,

woke before the sun,

dressed in a pile of clorhes,

trying to keep warm,

thinking of my daughter,

reason i push and work so hard,

she is 8months now,

not biologically mine but still mine,

wonder if i will make enough next week to buy some clothes,

her mother looks upto me,

the only genuine man she ever met,

my chest pains,

think am catching a flu

if only her mother was here to warm my bed,

but i cant afford the thought for now,

i can hardly feed myself,

eating one meal a day,

if am lucky a cup of tea in between the day,

memory flashes back to when i earned my college degree,

jobless now trying to make ends meet,

only thing i can do for now is tell my story,

write a poem maybe my daughter will get to eat.