The Mess

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Just eighteen, oh so young, but all bulged up.
Her mom will slap her, her dad will kill her.
Her boyfriend will not even see her.
She looks at the pile of books and articles on her desk,
so messed up like her life.
She looks out the window. She stands nearer to it.
Outside is not better, even drearier, dark clouds,
menacing lightning, peals of thunder,
like the gods are laughing at her.
You did this, you clean this, you are a mess!
The lightning claps for the great tragedy.
 
She leaves her paper to figure itself out.
Her life is waiting to be shattered.
She needs a breath of air.
She walks out, it’s getting darker.
No umbrella, if it rains, then so be it.
Life is all about consequences,
but to hell with them, she just wants to enjoy it.
 
Coming from a strict Catholic family,
She wants freedom.
Every day she thinks of college, now she’s got it, she wants none of it.
Too many obligations, restrictions.
This is college?
She’s fed up; she’s relaxed, even in bed, now she’s to make for two in nine months.
She’s too young, maybe abort it? Remove it, that which hinders her?
 
Elimination. She passes by a garbage dump. It makes her sick,
the scent of rotting meat, fruits, and leaves, all hell of it.
She runs away. Elimination. It is an abomination.
She can get rid of it and pretend nothing happened.
Elimination.
 
But she’s afraid and alone. She’s afraid to be more alone without it.
She’s ready? No, not at all. But she is not ready for elimination.
To eliminate it, she might be eliminated too.
She’d better straighten up. The lightning strikes in threes.
They surprised her. They jolted her.
She walks fast back to her dorm.
She walks past the garbage of her thoughts.
She got wet before she reached the door.
She touched her tummy. She touched it.
With her hands on her cold drenched shirt,
she realized she loves it.
Gotta keep warm. I can’t be sick.
I am going to have this, however crazy it seems.
Motherhood, you’ve messed me up, but I won’t mess it up.
 
 
 
 

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