Two hours.
I'm supposed to wait two hours
to determine my future.
i can hear my mother's warnings in the back of my mind
oddly enough, all i can think about is diapers
none of this seems real,
yet i can feel the anxiety coursing through my body
my fingernails chewed down to stubs
the person in the mirror is hardly worth looking at
i can only see time swallow me whole, starting with my eyes
then spiraling into something beyond my control.
how
did i
end up
here.
two hours two hours two hours
my bouncing leg threatens to detach from my body
diapers. stroller. mom. baby. no dad.
last week i carefully picked out my clothes,
hoping the girls in my class would think i'm worth glancing at.
in nine months, i could be carrying a human that i bore.
at least i'll have time to process for nine months.
time to prepare.
time to mourn.
mourn for what?
a life you know you'd never have the motivation to live?
a life you know you never even had the potential for?
Was this supposed to be your life after all?
No living, only surviving?
two
hours
pass
in that time, i've settled on the brand of diapers i should buy,
how i'll tell my mother,
the nearest hospital to our house,
and how i'll have to quit smoking.
But then I look,
I look without thinking about it.
With the same impulsiveness that got me here in the first place,
I look.
There is no ring.
My life can resume.
My little life with no greater purpose.
My boring little life with no ring.