When I was just a little girl,
Mama spoke a curse —
“Y’all think this girl gon' be something,
But she’ll be pregnant first.”
That night as I laid in my bed,
Bleeding from that cut —
“I will not be the first pregnant!”
Rose up in my gut.
I often wondered why would mama,
Say such awful things;
But looking back I felt God’s strength,
That only comes through pain.
At eighteen, I was a victim,
Of a stalker crazed and wild.
It started with some eye contact,
And then he saw my smile.
Due to that fear, I met my God,
One night on my knees;
"I need you to come in my heart.
Protect me, oh Lord, please."
I often wondered where was God,
the night all that went down;
But looking back I know God’s shield,
Was right there all around.
By twenty mom was proven wrong,
I wasn’t pregnant first;
My younger sister was with child,
And would be giving birth.
I thanked the Lord for keeping me,
consecrated then;
But then I started thinking, now,
I could have sex with Glen.
The bible says the Father knows,
Exactly what we need;
When I was just a little girl,
My Father saw that seed.
I thought what mama said was harsh
And, yes, it really cut;
But God will use the knife He choose,
To take out what He must.
I use to wondered why would God,
Allow such things to be;
But looking back, I see God’s plan
Which once I could not see.
D.W. Barela