3.Birth

/The way you were born, can predict the way you will die/
And here she lies
Those big brown eyes
Opening up on the ninth of May
Seeking an answer an arm
of comfort, Anything.

Rain fell entrapping the tiny house
Filling in the cracks, foming a chill
in the dense air
Father came running through the door

She has yet to cry, she has yet to scream
There is confusing on Father's face
Finding his baby girl on teh floor
Staring at the cracks in the ceilling
And all those flaky layers of paint

What are you doing here?

There was a string tied to her tiny little ankle
With a note attached
For this everyone grew sad
Lines in faces formed
Features grew closer towards the middle of faces
And extra skin drooped down foming
Two sets of everything
Chins, necks, cheeks, breasts, stomachs...

What is it that you want from me?

Father picked her up and threw away the note
"She doesn't deserve this"
He whispered
She smiled

She found the love of her life
He found his burden