Innocence Aborted

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She was everything I aspired to be;

an hourglass figure measured only

by their calculating stares

scanning over her body.



I was envious of the attention she received;

I never realized how much she had

given up in the process.



I was ashamed of my carefulness

keeping innocence intact

as long as possible.



I wanted to be like her,

but I was unaware just how careless she was

letting tiny rubber packages

grace hotel room nightstands

unopened.  



I blame myself for her reckless actions,

for spending more time

coveting the glances

rather than noticing the agony behind

regret-stricken eyes.  



I blame society for

making us grow up too fast

skipping the stages between

boys having cooties and sex,

for robbing innocence

from playgrounds.



They hurled responsibility

onto petite shoulders  

where life-altering choices

had to be made during recess.



I heard about her hardest decision

while sprawled on

her Disney-printed bed sheets;

she told me of her visit

behind the walls where heartbeats

are silenced.



Yet she cried of how she still hears

the screams reverberate beneath

scars on empty wombs,

how each tear of flesh

had a corresponding tear in her

broken soul.

Rewrite 2012

She was everything I aspired to be;
an hourglass figure measured only
by their calculating stares
scanning across her body.

I was envious of the attention she received;
I never realized how much she had
given up in the process.

I was ashamed of my carefulness
keeping innocence intact indefinitely.

I wanted to be like her,
but I was unaware just how careless she was
letting tiny rubber packages
grace hotel room nightstands unopened.

I blame myself for her foolish actions,
for spending more time
coveting the glances
rather than noticing the agony behind
regret-stricken eyes.

I blame society for
making us grow up too fast
skipping the stages between
cooties and sex,
for robbing innocence
from playgrounds.

They hurled responsibility
onto infantile shoulders
where life-altering choices
had to be made during recess.

I heard about her hardest decision
while sprawled on
her Disney-printed bedsheets:
she told me of her visit
behind the walls where heartbeats
are silenced.

Yet she cried of how she still hears
the screams reverberate beneath
scars on an empty womb,
how each tear of flesh
had a corresponding tear in her
broken soul.

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