Female infanticide- Twisted Butterfly

I woke crying from a nightmare

where a baby laid in a trash can

unworthy to even recycle

worth less than a tin can

Her screams a mixture of hunger for both milk and mercy

Was she thrown there by the disappointed father who wanted a son

or laid there by the crying mother who knew death was gentler than life

Would kind hands find her or will her angel carry her home

Cold fingers of night strangle her,

nothing fuzzy

her blanket is the cold rain on her skin

Her sounds grow weaker

like your prayers for her

Where do you lay your head as hers fall under a layer of the trash

She is the birth of a woman’s beginning

She is the death of histories excuses

The hope she was to bring would have made beauty out of chaos and pain

cured the rips in the earth’s conscious

But her last breath just whispered a soft sound

And the best of what is left took her in soft arms

touched her with gentle lips

And turned away from us

the blind ugly that was left

I woke crying

My eyes opened to see

We are the ugly that’s left

I am a 44-year mom of three and a Nana to two.

I love to write, take pictures and dream.

I blog at  Twistdbutterfly 


Too Many To Count – Kristiana Reed


3 weeks – she nestles

deep into her mother,

into her past and future.


5 weeks – she swims

tail fluttering

in the amniotic wind.


8 weeks – she moves

with tiny fingers

and toes.


11 weeks – she’s kicking

and dancing,

drawing circles within.


13 weeks – she has fingerprints

and two million eggs,

a city of pinks.


16 weeks – she’s a girl

with edges and bones

with nape of the neck curls.


19 weeks – she’s a girl who listens,

sees, touches, tastes and smells,

who won’t be reported missing.


20 weeks – she’s a girl,

a prayer, a disappointment,

a loss, an appointment.



Disclaimer: This was written for our series on the exploitation of women. This week is about female infanticide. One of the common methods of carrying out this heinous act is sex selective abortion. This poem is raising awareness about this. Its purpose is not to criticise abortion or women who have had abortions.


Kristiana Reed juggles writing and teaching English; in both vocations she endeavours to remind people of their self worth and how dazzlingly beautiful the world can be.

You can read more of Kristiana’s writing at My Screaming Twenties