• May I ask, how have I gotten here?
    I battled with myself in my head.
    Should I?
    I imagined a beautiful baby in my arms.
    Then it was gone.
    Now I imagined a baby trying to survive.
    Tears streaking her face.
    Her hair matted down with blood,
    from the wound in her head.
    No, no. I told myself this would happen.
    But I couldn't help imagine,
    the father, furious.
    Unhappy, crying, hurting.
    What to do?
    One is right and one is wrong.
    But any way, I get hurt.
    And so do the people around me.
    What to do?