Watching a program about women who abandon their infants I was compelled to write this |
Outcast Standing at the edge of a token existence Life ebbing away, knows no resistance A stranger in her hometown nicknamed Distance Acutely aware of her emotional subsistence She’s lived forever in a suburb called Despair Lowers her eyes, avoiding the glare The people she passes, some spit, most simply stare No strength to fight back, a heart beyond repair Against her will, her infant did surrender In return, abhorrence did they render In a picture-perfect world, ever the offender Never knew love in all of its splendour Standing on the corner by the lamppost of hope Needs to escape, no time to mope Drowning her sorrows, her being would tope Pain is her noose, rejection her rope Longs to be free, to let her spirit dance It’s only geography, but perhaps live in France Knows it’s not too late, time to take a stance Her mind resolved, slips into a trance He pushes a bill into the clasp of her hand Speeds off in his car, leaves her lying in the sand Looking up at the stars, mapping out a distant land Imagines foreign shores, walking by the strand The phone box usually provides protection from the rain Throws in some coins, hears ‘Hello? Hello?’ again A young man’s voice, she wants to explain Fear of rejection once more, she has to refrain Men in her life, one after another Though rejected by her family, even her brother Knows there is one pain like no other: She gave birth but never was a mother |