What About Me?

She was only seventeen.
Raised, LDS, planned to be a missionary, temple worthy,
But something changed.
She was only seventeen when she had to tell her mother,
She was pregnant.
She was only seventeen when because of her choices,
She had to tell her mother that she would be a mother of her own.
She was only seventeen.

She was only seventeen.
She found out that she was pregnant,
But something changed.
She was only seventeen when the doctor told her,
She’d be a mother of two.
She was only seventeen when she had to tell the family,
She would be giving birth to twins.
She was only seventeen.

She was only seventeen.
She found out that she’d have twins,
But something something changed.
She was only seventeen when her water broke at fifteen weeks
For baby B.
She was only seventeen when she was told Baby B had less than 1% survival,
And her own life was at risk.
She was only seventeen.

She was only seventeen.
Her life was at danger because of her twins,
But something changed.
She was only seventeen when she had to tell her mother,
I’m not going to have these babies.
She was only seventeen when her decision was between saving herself risk
Or giving Baby A the small chance it had to life.
She was only seventeen.

She was only seventeen.
She was induced at only sixteen weeks.
She was only seventeen.

I was only fifteen.
Raised, LDS, planned to be a missionary, temple worthy,
But something changed.
I was only fifteen when my older sister told me,
She was pregnant.
I was only fifteen when because of her choices,
My older sister had to tell me she’d be a mother to a child.
I was only fifteen.

She had been my confident,
My closest friend,
My caregiver,
My protector.

People ask me how she is,
And I want to scream,
WHAT ABOUT ME?!

They underestimate my pain because I was not the mother,
But I was only fifteen when I was abandoned by the only one I knew how to love.

People ask me how she is,
And I want to scream,
WHAT ABOUT ME?!

They don’t know that long before this I had already covered my arms and legs in cuts.
They don’t see the years of depression I had lived in.
They don’t know that it was when I was at my weakest that my sister decided family was not her priority.

People ask me how she is,
And I want to scream
WHAT ABOUT ME?!

They don’t think that I will grieve.
They don’t know that my sister was only seventeen when she decided that I couldn’t attend the birth of my stillborn nephews.

I was only fifteen,
So what about me?

I became the dust on my sister's face,
Blown away so they could see her tears.

It’s fine to want to know how she is,
But what about me?