The two magenta lines do not lie:

one look to scan the color,

another glance to determine its meaning.

Arm shaking in fear and

eyes jangling in the sockets,

searching for the unnamed.


It is not moving yet,

but a lump is still there.

Searching the perceived area

for signs of change, but

monthly Bloody Murder did

not show her face this thirty day interval.

Such reasoning to panic the inevitable:

restless and determined,

yet ripe with fright.


My soul mate supports this fate,

but the family finds it daunting.

I cannot believe

that the unnamed is inside me,

waiting for me to name her/him

once this seed has blossomed.



I've been reading your poems. I absolutely love this one. Beautiful truth about being pregnant especially at a young age

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741