BY VERONICA TORRES

As you walk into the room
•••••With your protruding belly
••••• •••••Waiting to release a life form so precious,
•••••They stare at you with arrogant pity,
•••••While secretly trying to dissect your life
Searching for reasons excusable enough for them
•••••As to why the seed of the future lies
••••• •••••Buried within your body.
They stick you onto a board of “undesirable circumstances”
•••••And try to pick out the best answer
••••• •••••As to why you’re where they think you’re at.
They envision you growing up in a broken home,
•••••Where mommy and daddy never really cared,
Out running around the streets, flittering your
•••••Tarnished wings through masses of promiscuous men
••••• •••••Trying to tear your innocence from you
••••• ••••• •••••Waiting to strip you of your dignity
You turn away from their looks while
•••••They try to hide
You take your seat and caress the future
•••••You will soon cradle in your arms.