She's Not Mine My dad says she's beautiful and runs his thumb gently over her forehead. I look down at a pale face, a pair of blue eyes, a nose.. I can't see what he sees. I see nothing of myself in her. All I see is an imaginary face, a dark silhouette, not this tiny thing right in front of me. I wonder if she's anything like him. If her nose is his, her hair.. This small bundle of flesh and bone. She disgusts me. I want to drop her on the floor and never pick her up. All eyes are on me and they expect me to love this.. thing. She's been growing inside me for nine months, if I was going to love her, I would by now. I will never love her. The labour took twelve hours, so less than the rape. I feel like throwing up all over the bed. She is Him. She is Darkness. She's the reason I wake every night crying. A remnant of the thing that makes me afraid of the dark. Afraid of heights. Of cars. Always afraid.. Never alone to grieve. And now They stand alongside my bed with pretty masks on and tells me what a miracle God granted me. How beautiful she is. It's me and Them, I can see that clearly now. The Others. They are no longer my parents, They are my jailers. She's going to be one of Them too. I'm not allowed to give her away. She is my flesh and blood. But she's not mine, she's not me. They can have her. Maybe then I can sleep at night. Alone. I just want to be alone for a while. (To my dear friend who passed away to early