No, I Don't

No, I don't want a daughter.
I do not wish for her to be the victim of a beguiling Casanova, promising her the world but leaving her with unwanted progeny.
Dodging would-be suitors because she wants to make a better future for herself.
Shamed into acquiescence, lest she is called a whore.
God had a painful plan, so she avoids a baby.
But many men avoid her because of it.
No, no daughters for me.
No, I do not wish for a daughter.
Ravaged by rapists and warlords of a pillaged piece of land.
Mutilated and eviscerated, her body desired yet her pleasure is scorned.
I do not want her to be told she has to be a wife,
or else she is a pitiful waste.
No, no daughters for me.
No, a daughter is not in my plan.
I do not want her to feel the pangs of parenthood, birthing another crying vestige of a life, that will suffer and waste away; a slave to the king that is entropy.
No, no daughters for me.
Absolutely, I wish to avoid fatherhood of the daughter.
Afraid she is going to be carted off to be some plaything of a dirty dastard.
Her will and womb are broken down,
for the grotesque amusement of some lord.
No, no daughters for me.
No, I don't want a son.
Emotionally scarred and scared of the world around him.
The knife of manhood constantly at his throat,
ready to assassinate him if he doesn't obey.
Like a tyrant of testosterone,
questioning his very being and cut down at a moment's notice.
No, I would hate to have a son.
Living in a world, where his finger is forced onto a trigger.
Killing other boys and men like him, hoping to prove his worth.
This "son" of mine is so beaten and so deranged;
his mind tattered and bewildered by the guilt and unforgiving gusts of the whirlwind in his psyche. His only hope is at the base of a bottle.
No, I do not wish for a son.
Placing cold steel at his temple,
for the burdens are too great.
His plaintive cries reach out to the sun, but in a language nobody understands.
A rope tightens around his neck, for the shadows of grief cloud self-preservation.
No, my dear "son" please keep away.
When your body is a plaything, the world laughs.
Wondering why you "allowed" it to happen.
Your virtue, a cruel joke when it is torn asunder.
Your manhood, constantly in question if you refrain from promiscuity. 

No… No, I do not wish for a child.


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