A young teenage girl who thought she found love,
She gave up herself to taste his heart,
But then she discovered a push in her back,
He was not love,
But he gave her another heart to conceive.
Churns in her body,
the tension of being somebody that others thought she was,
In her eyes are engraved the voices of others,
And in her youth to embrace,
The slayings coming.
What now should she hold onto,
A life filled with scorn?
Or another one for hiding.
She cries alone in an empty room,
She shed tears that fills a pool,
She listens to choices but which one to choose,
In the end she succumbs,
To wear society’s,
Words that she will forever carry,
In her heart and on her head.
I read in the news a few days back of a teenaged girl who, after conceiving left her baby to die. At a first glance, I thought to myself, how could she do such a thing and kill another life which was meant in fact for her to nurture. But in the event of her being unwed, being a teenager this would be a burden for her to carry. There is truth that she will carry the stigma because of her decision. And also what she did was wrong. But do we ever ask ourselves, as a society, how we also contribute in the killing of the child? So what if she conceived in bearing the child and nurture the child being an unwed teen and having no husband? Do we as a society stop in looking at her as a failure? It is as if she is wearing a tattoo, inked permanently on her forehead and deeply in her heart. We should ask ourselves instead, what have we done as a society to make her think that way. What have we as a society contributed in terms of being murderers ourselves.