The Obscene Paradigm

Trenches and trench coats lead a girl astray

Billboards tell the child to never run away.

Farmers and homesteads is all she’s ever known

The family still calls her baby, but my has she grown.

Chaste she stays until the night of her prom

Though all the tales and stories from her mom.

A child was born one February night

She screamed so loud it gave children a fright.

She learns quickly why we marry before birth

When in court she finally finds her worth.

He works at a gas station, and she a store

He whispers in the tiny town “she’s a whore.”

Crying baby, a mothers disdain, the small town talks

The innocent woman takes many walks.

Upon a rock she always cries

Until one day she decides this is where she dies.

Broken, forsaken, and the talk of the town

She’ll never again be that losers clown.

Scribbles a note for all to see

They read the words under her favorite tree.

Upon the stone that adorns her name

Her mother placed a gentle flame.

On her knees she cried that night

Swore she would never give up the fight.

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