Murder

It was a wrongful death.

I should have at least seen the light of one more day...

A day.

But no,

I was ripped from warmth and comfort and dragged,

Into the cold of a dark room;

Bright lights;

A cold table. 

Spinal cord cut.

I was alive,

But not to them.

The woman who was meant to love me most;

The man who left her naked in the gas station bathroom,

The man who would take my life.

My cries went unheard,

And I, unnoticed. 

What sorrow is there for the murder of a child?

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world

Comments

Need to talk?

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