Poem: Early Marriage

This early marriage 
Makes me old 
Before fruits of my time ripens.  
I am a broken statue
Of a young persona. 
I carry life, 
But I am too short 
To reach the sky
Of Joy. 
My fate is 
An erasing composure. 
I have been lost 
In the kitchen 
Of never moving mountains
Of pain. 
A child I am 
Merely a child
With childish dreams.  
I bleed excessively 
In the hospital bed,
A child giving birth to a life 
I chime the death bells, 
Risking two lives. 
What age-old sermon you preach
And call yourself 
A society? 
Look through the lamp
Of your soot
And educate yourself
And become a healing marvel.