poem

                                                                COLORED STATISTIC OF ABORTION

Is it because of their low income?

Or living on section A all their lives.

Despite the births of a child based upon her lies.

Maybe it’s those full lips she know they might have

Or heritage of genes from someone of the past.

The young girl’s baby’s father is locked behind bars.

She receives help from no one.

Her parents don’t love her.

They would rather show her how life was when they were young.

Struggling to maintain her image, she misinterprets.

But now confesses to the preacher’s sermon.

For one day to move out the hood.

For a life that was beyond, greater goods

She stopped trying to get an education.

And instead fell for the dope boys’ compensation.

Trying to out shine her friend’s social life.

Here she lies underneath the knife.

Or rape just like her grandmother.

When she worked in the fields.

To be constantly whipped or even worst KILLED.

Another statistic is what she is called.

A dark hole, in which she is hauled.

Drugged with medicine

She prepares to strip away, a life of an innocent.

Patiently she waits to rethink her options.

She says “a child of color wouldn’t have a home if given up for adoption”

She sits in a chair, legs spread open.

In a gown soon to be painted red.

Doctor says “for a woman of your color the child is better off dead”.

Eyes closed the feeling of guilt and chill rattles up her spine.

Toes curled in fear of losing another life.

All she feels is cold hands inside of her.

Grabbing at her used to be innocence.

A stick of a needle and her mind runs crazy.

Another official statistic of an aborted colored baby.