Homogeneous Counterpart

Mar 16, 2008 - 17:11 PM PST

I am..
sitting here
the cold air blows on my neck
coming from the crack under the door
it is 3 a.m.

"you should go home"
the words sting
worse than winters breath,
I look down at my feet
one of my socks is coming off
it droops onto the floor
like a sad symbol

.."im pregnant"..

I say it without looking up
there is no intake of air
there is no sound of movement
I continue to stare off
thinking about socks and sweat shops
about dyed fingers and child labor
a strange thing to think
when my life has ended
and begun
nothing prophetic
nothing divine

I place my cupped hand over my stomach,
there is an alien inside of me
a creature no bigger than the tip of my pinky
I do not know it;
still it grows inside of me
sprouting off from me
becoming a seperate part of me
I shutter involuntarily at the thought

"do what you want"
the voice is platonic
unfeeling
yet scared

'not fit to parent'
I think
this man
..this boy
he is too selfish to care
I step towards the door
anger escapes in a whisper
"you shall not be a father"
and walk away.