My earliest memories was that from the orphanage.
No warmth to feel, from that you call a mother,
Nor, gentle hands to hold, from that you call a father.
.
Within this place, we were raised,
By our care taker, whom we call Headmistress.
.
It may not be perfect, happy and nice,
But at least with my fellows, we somehow do get by.
.
But all of it, changed one day.
A day in which, is my thirteenth birthday.
.
On that day the Headmistress told me,
That it is time, my debt I have to pay.
.
All she spent, from food, shelter, clothing.
I have to return, starting from this day.
.
The numbers shocked me,
For be it written or by hand,
It is far more, than what I can count.
.
"Where will I get such money when all I've known is sell some candles, matches and flower hats?"
I asked.
.
On my knees I fell, tears too did in both my eyes.
.
"We can always have you in that place,
I'm pretty sure they'll welcome you.
With more than warm embrace."
the Headmistress
.
'NO! ANYTHING BUT THERE!
I'LL DO ANYTHING JUST DON'T SEND ME THERE!'
.
'Then figure it out. Though, one way or another, you'll end up there.'
Irritated, the Headmistress said before leaving.
.
The world started to spin,
fear,
agony,
helplessness,
All clinging to me.
Dragging me to insanity.
.
Nobody can help,
Nobody will.
For just like me,
To that hell , they are drawing near.
.
In that place, where all depravity feast,
Many, did not return,
Some did, with missing limbs.
And the few, with body still complete,
No longer they are, their own former selves
.....
(nothing to connect up and bellow yet sorry)
.....
Yet, despite all my efforts,
In the end I simply am.
A toy to be played.
A meat to be eaten and forced to eat.
A thing to be used then tossed when tired with.
.
Thus, no matter what I do,
For I am nothing but a woman,
I ended up not a human.
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(For I No Longer Am a Human, Let Not My Child Be a Woman prt1, drft2)