It’s a shame.

This world we didn’t choose to live in.

It’s a shame that he is born into this world, all smiles and cherub hair, not knowing that he is already decaying.

It’s a shame that she plays with dolls that do not look like any other girl around her and she still wants to be the sticks she plays with.

It’s a shame that western education deems worthy the student who can spread themselves the thinnest and still perform well  

It’s a shame that the richest of heart are the poorest of society.

It’s a shame they find each other here in a world they didn’t choose to live in.

It’s a shame they fall hopelessly, carelessly, indifferently in love with each other.

It’s a shame that their love brings forth a child with so much hope and care, who is so different from the other decaying forms who claim they are living in a world they didn’t choose to live in.

It’s a shame that we claim that we ourselves are living in a world we didn’t choose to live in only to become destroyers and reckless inhabitants instead of stewards who care for the earth like they do their smartphones and polished hardwood floor.

Dommage. Femme Fatale. The girl who thinks she can make it somewhere in this world she didn’t choose to live in. But who’s to say that I didn’t choose to live here? In dommage, in shame and pity and decay, amongst the poor and corrupt so that when I rise with grace and poise and strength, I will not be the stepping stone or even the diamond with a flaw. I will be born again, become of age and out of the ashes that were once the flames that licked my wounds.

I will be me.

Dommage.