A shining halo on her head
guides every single step she dreads,
she wishes she could run instead,
all of her crumbled hopes are dead.
A future flashing in her mind,
an older groom, mostly unkind.
Both hands scrubbed raw from chores assigned,
no more tears left, silently cried.
Her dad is there, her mother too,
dismissing all her obvious blues.
So nonchalant with how she grew,
ignore her thoughts, forcing their views.
Slowly exhales, welcoming death,
suddenly wakes, still out of breath,
she sobs for those that go the length,
while praying she can gather strength.
Maybe someday forced love can end,
so no heart needs to play pretend.
Some are too young to comprehend,
how one wrong step quickly descends.
The warm sunlight, brightens her face,
clears up her mind, she finds her place,
an advocate for those displaced,
providing pure love filled with grace.
– Grace Y. Estevez- Reddy