In the beginning,
they were but whispers
of ample sized women.
Mother was their queen.
Then, father agreed.
My fate is decided.
To the chalk faced man we must now head!
Mother told me in her gentle voice,
the rites must be done to protect my loins.
Yet my blood curdled when I saw his face.
The deed is done.
My loins will light up never again.
Pains of childbirth now made impossible.
Rivulets of sweat on skin at night,
I cry out in my sleep for years to come.
I see the blade.
I hear the sound.
I feel the pain.
I reap the loss.
The cycle continues for girls to come.
Another loin afflicted with pain.
Pain that knows no iota of gain.
The curse of a misplaced brain.
But YOU can make a change.