She’s lived here all her life,

This is her home,

Her friends are her family,

Some come and go,

Yet others stay.


She is only fourteen,

Life has never been easy on her,

She has gone hungry and thirsty,

Fell sick and no one cared,

Except her little friends who are more like her,

And have nothing to offer more than love.


She has been battered,

The scars on her face cannot be concealed,

She has been raped,

The baby she is carrying is evident,

How will a fourteen year old take care of a baby?


Her mum died when she was just seven,

Her father was shot dead when she was three,

She had no sibling,

She is the only family that has been left,

And this unwanted baby in her belly.

She sits at the corner of the street,

The place she has made her home for years,

She folds her legs and hugs them,

As tears falls uncontrollably from her closed eyes,

Wondering what will happen to her next.


She stretches out her legs,

Pats the bastard she is carrying,

Looks down at it with sympathy and fear,

Knowing how uncertain its tomorrow is.


She never wanted this,

She had a dream,

A dream of getting herself off the streets,

A dream of having a big, happy family,

Like the ones she sees as they pass by.


How will she fed for this innocent creature inside her?

She has enough trouble fending for herself,

She looks across and curses the vicious who did this to her,

Then looks up to beg for help from above,

To do the best she can for the innocent.


©Anita W.



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