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