Never Been Born

Poem by Beatrice Preti, Photograph by Darwin Chan


Her eyes fill with memories of bloodshed and gore

“Hey, doctor,” she says. “I wish I’d never been born.”

Her legs are too short to reach to the ground

So I lend her my arm, and help her jump down

She runs to the window, and looks at the sky

“It’s raining,” she says. “Someone’s made angels cry.”

Her little feet patter like drops on the floor

My hands starts to shake. I can’t take any more.

So I make my excuses and run from the room

My crafted façade lies shattered in ruins

My childhood, my life never prepped me for this

Where a child tries to die to find solace and bliss

I stare out the window as rain splashes down

I push out my heart, and I hope that it drowns

And, once I am sure that I’ve lost it (for now)

I take a breath in, and turn back around

I return to the room. She’s still standing there. 

Her eyes are like oceans of endless despair

She speaks to me still, but I cannot hear

Though my body is present, my mind is not here

I don’t know what to do; my conscience is torn

What can you say when a child wishes she’d never been born?

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