I want to apologize to you.
I don't want to raise
a child in Gaza.
I don't want to be
the father who can't
give you food…
The one who can't
spend time with you
because he must
scrounge for work
until late at night
just to put food on the table…
The one who can't
save you when you’re in danger
because he can't
save himself…
The one who can't
raise you in a house
with space where you
can run and play…
The one who can't pay
for your education.

I don't want you to be
the child who sells tissue
in the streets, dirty in his rags…
The one who can't travel
or find a job…
The one whose leg
is chopped off after being shot
for merely protesting for his rights.
The one who kills
himself from hopelessness…
The one who comes to me
and asks,
“Why did you bring me
into a world so unfair?”