Seventeen

Seventeen,
a lifetime blooming,
aching for chubby fingers,
sticky kisses,
a small hand curled in mine.
A hollow in my heart,
shaped like a child I haven't met,
a love I yearn to give,
unconditional, boundless.

But then,
the memory crashes,
a jagged wave on a peaceful shore.
Their faces, blurred and ugly,
their actions, a violation etched in bone.
And the possibility, a seed of dread,
taking root in fertile ground.

The wanting clashes with the reality,
a war raging in my soul.
To nurture, to protect,
it sings in my blood,
a primal, unwavering song.

Abortion, a closed door,
a path I cannot tread,
a choice that feels like another wound,
another taking.

So I stand,
on the precipice of a future,
uncertain, terrifying.
If that seed does bloom,
if a life takes hold,
tainted by its brutal origin,

I will not falter.
I will not deny.
I will not punish an innocent heart
for the sins of monsters.

I will gather it close,
this child not of my choosing,
but a child nonetheless.
I will pour my love,
my fierce, protective love,
into every fiber of its being.

I will teach it strength,
teach it kindness,
teach it the difference between
right and unforgivable wrong.

I will raise it to be better,
to heal the broken places
within myself, within the world.
It will not be defined
by the darkness of its beginning,
but by the light of my unwavering devotion.

And maybe, just maybe,
in loving this child,
I can begin to heal,
to forgive,
to find a sliver of peace
in the wreckage of my seventeen.