I’m sorry, sister.
I watched as mama
took your hand
and placed it in his.
There was nothing I could do.
The same fate waits for me—
bound like roots,
tethered to a tree.
I am a broken calabash,
my dreams scattered
like soil after harvest.
Does a girl need a man
to make her dreams come true?
A girl is a matchstick—
she can spark alone.
Yet without marriage,
society calls her
a violin without strings.
She traded me like sand
for a gem.
I wept
as I held his arm.
Feb 2
Feb 2, 2026 at 2:13 PM UTC
I’m sorry, sister.
I watched as mama
took your hand
and placed it in his.
There was nothing I could do.
The same fate waits for me—
bound like roots,
tethered to a tree.
I am a broken calabash,
my dreams scattered
like soil after harvest.
Does a girl need a man
to make her dreams come true?
A girl is a matchstick—
she can spark alone.
Yet without marriage,
society calls her
a violin without strings.
She traded me like sand
for a gem.
I wept
as I held his arm.
This poem is for girls forced into early marriage. Girls expected to marry men old enough to be their fathers or grandfathers. It questions a society that demands such sacrifices from girls and asks whether anyone truly deserves this fate.