Babyhood

The last time I died it was not like this.
I was important, someone somewhere
Loved as in the womb,
Warm and cherished as if by angels.
A whole harem praising me in soft whispers
Saying: what a beautiful baby,
Pretending my mother wasn't crying
Oh! even the pillow pressing down
Was warm with her tears.
Here everyone stares with eyes
Made to judge and not care;
Old ladies drive-by motherings
Screamed out of car windows
Saying: you're too young to look after me.
Insolent men ask you for dates,
Assuming you easy to get into bed.
Your tears are angry, bitter and not warm,
And you wonder why you allowed
Me to be born.
I just want to be loved again.
The next time I live, it will not be like this.