Heartless

"I don't want children" I tell my grandmother.

I am eight.

Covered in a galaxy of red, blue and purple splotches

From Mother's recent derangement.

"You'll change your mind when you're older" she says.

"I don't want children" I tell my friends.

I used to marvel at my eleventh grade class,

where three had fallen pregnant.

Within a few months the class filled with the shrill cries,

of babies,

wailing for attention,

while their mothers ploded on with their interrupted teenhood.

My friends respond: "Why not?

They're so cute! How can you not see that?"

"I don't want children" I say to my professor.

Every time I ride the bus to university,

I'm assaulted,

with society's raw, open secrets:

a single mother of three.

She is in rags but her children are not.

She is trying her best.

"Life is pointless without children" my teacher retaliates.

"I don't want children" I say to a colleague.

It is the year 2028.

Half the world is dying from too much food,

the other half is starving from too little.

I am back from a cesspool somewhere in Africa.

I return to a familiar routine,

trying to forget the visions of skeletal children,

that still haunt my dreams.

"How can you be so heartless?" my colleague hisses.

The rumors follow me for weeks;

That I'm heartless,

A monster,

Barely a woman at all.

I overhear a male colleague saying:

"no kids for me, I want to enjoy life."

No one criticizes him.

I think; is it truly heartless?

To prevent more suffering in this miserable world?

No, it is merciful.