I felt her cry as she toiled.
The unknown of her belly moved in sync
With the rhythmic methodic of each stroke.
What will become of her?
Being born into a world where hate of this kind abound.
Will she toil as her mother has
Be afflicted and scorned
Taunted and alienated because
She was born of a woman
abused, used and discarded
By a man who claimed to have loved but
Sought only to hurt and mistreat
Impregnate and then retreat.
Solace be found in he that dwells within her
That while she grows he holds
Enfolds and nurtures her
Creating from within a sense of worth, beauty and light
Which when birthed will so shine and break the curse.
She is my child.
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