A Child From A Teenage Pregnancy


Excuse me Sir, why doesn't anybody love me? 

I’m sorry for the morning sickness,

but that was only to tell Mommy “I’m HERE”

But Mommy didn't listen…

Why didn't she believe me?

She went to the GYN and he spoke for me.


But Mommy had a different story.

I felt her heart skip a beat.

I knew she was uneasy.

..I mean, Mommy only was 17.

15 times, mommy beat me.

12 times, mommy cursed me.

9 times, mommy denied me.

6 times, mommy ignored my needs.

3 times, mommy thought to abort me.

But ZERO times, mommy loved me.

For 6 months now, I've been in mommy’s belly.

Sir, why does she still hate me?


Excuse me Sir, why doesn't anybody love me?

Mommy never really cared.

So ever since I turned 3,

Daddy would come over

And I’d get beaten, molested, and raped.

He fingered my childhood out of me

And French-kissed my innocence away.

I like to imagine I’m a superwoman who can fly far in my Great Cape

But I’m not.

So every time I see him, my life is at stake.

I go into battle mode. But I can’t continue fighting like this anymore

Because Sir that part of me is drained.


Excuse me Sir, why does hurt always find me?

For most people the pain only lasts for the night.

But mine is endured into the morn.

If you've ever seen me in the a.m.,

You’d think I just waged war.

Situated between life and death;

With my Body, mind, and soul resembling the Battle of Kadesh

I can’t look up.

I’m stuck…

In this life of pain and pressure,

I’m stuck…

In the middle,

I am stuck…

These obstacles are too high.

How do I elevate?

Sir, I’m only four-foot-eight.


Excuse Sir, is that why nobody loves me?

Because I don’t have a real daddy?

I thought fatherly figures were supposed to portray the fatherly features of God.

But it seems like mine will never cease

To unleash a type of satanic fiery.

He’s the cancer in my life.

Its torture

Killing me ever so slowly.

Stress is the radiation that pulls out my hair.

The only difference is that stress won’t fight this cancer for me.


I NEVER ASKED to be here!

I NEVER ASKED to be born a bastard!

I’M NOT EVEN ASKING to be treated like a queen…

All I ever ASKED for was a little bit of TLC,

Some reassurance that my body shouldn’t be another accessory for the pimp down the street,

The advice to only touch the balls bounce in gym class

I’ve been praying for so long

I know my bedroom walls can’t here me

But these walls, they know me

At my lowest moments when my flesh morphed into a canvas

When needles became Ben Carson

And pocketknives became van Gogh,

These walls, they never judged me.

These walls, they’ve seen how I’ve fallen to my knees so many times

That my dignity began coming down with me.


Look Sir.

My parents don’t want me

These walls see me cutting

I got a decent body

But my face just disgusts me

My smile went missing somewhere in all the questions

But I just gotta ask one more thing…

Will anyone ever love me?


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741