She feels it bloom within her bones,
a heaviness she can't explain,
a life she did not choose to hold,
her childhood buried by this pain.

She clutches dolls, they comfort less,
while whispers say it's meant to be—
but dreams of playgrounds fade to dust,
and innocence slips silently.

They call it life, they call it law,
and turn their eyes, refuse her cries—
a child forced to carry life,
while her own childhood slowly dies.

— She Was 10 , 11/6/24