I sit on the porch,
a cigarette in between my fingers,
thinking about how I don't know,
and the thought lingers.
I take a drag,
then let out the smoke,
could this be the end,
of the midnight's toke?
There's still a chance,
a chance this isn't happening,
that this i got lucky,
or i carry a being.
Too young, too scared,
I sit alone,
wondering how many months,
till i get kicked out of my home.
If i can't take care of myself,
how can i care for another?
No job, no money,
too young to be a mother.
Sit still, breathe deep,
this happens to a lot of teens,
but they survive the task,
and make princess queens.
Take it down a notch,
there's still that chance,
and with it, being young,
you could still dance.