Teenage Pregnancy - Poem by Anita Khelawan
Giving birth at a tender age was not my intention,
How did this happen to me is still a confusion.
'Pregnant', me ha! never!
But his charming looks and boy was he clever.
The naive girl that I was, believed his lies and how he loved me so much,
I could not resist his charm but he convinced me wit his soothing and caressing touch.
The first time I saw Danny, he looked so handsome, strong and fun,
But coming to the end he turned out to be a real bum.
He wooed me with words and won me over,
I was shocked we would actually exchange our numbers.
When he first called, I could not believe it is really Danny.
We talked and talked for more than three hours,
Days and weeks had past; just before you know it we became closer.
Danny called me during the midday and told me to come home by him to lime and to have a bit of one on one time together.
I agreed to his idea but what did i know?
I thought all the girlfriends were doing it.
As soon as I entered his house, he started kissing me everywhere and all about.
He told me to relax and do not be afraid,
I pleaded with him to stop that I was not ready for that kind of thing.
Danny said, 'girl why are you so uptight? '
But i could not care, I screamed with all might.
Stop! Please! Stop!
He gave me a slap and told me to shut up.
I was humiliated, embarrassed and afraid.
And no one came to my aid.
When he was done he sent me home,
I called 999 on my telephone.
We, my parents took him to court and won the case.
I thought my sorrows had gone,
But little did I know my troubles had just begun.
Danny is gone in the wind but where does that leave me?
A baby and I am only fifteen.
Comments about Teenage Pregnancy by Anita Khelawan
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- TelevisionRoald Dahl
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda