(Author's note: it was 1 in the morning and I couldn't get this story or poem or whatever it is off my mind. I'd write an essay that points out the fact that there is absolutely no scientific grounds to say that abortion is not murder, but ranting pro-lifers just cause anger, which gets no one anywhere. So I have to write this instead. Enjoy! ~not Ross)

I should be in jail.

Ashley's doing good. "Mom," I mean.

People go I jail for less than what I did.

She's passing that history class now, even though the teacher gives her hell.

Sorry, I shouldn't talk like that around you.

Not that it matters.

Thanks to me.

I think she got a tutor. I think that's what she said.

We didn't break up.

Winter Formal was last weekend. We went. We didn't even kiss.

I'm afraid to kiss her.

I gave her flowers and she said to leave them here.

Because neither of us really deserve them. And I agree.

My crazy grandma sent you a yellow dress and diapers in the mail yesterday.

She didn't understand my mom's letter all the way.

I guess.

Of maybe she's just trying to punish me.

Maybe I'm punishing myself.

Heck, I should be. No one else is.

Punishing me.

Everyone says I should break up with Ashley, though.

Your mom, I mean.

But that's the last thing I want to do.

Besides get her pregnant again.

Do they have a jail for people like me?

They said to pretend you're like a dead aunt. Like a dead puppy.

I didn't kill any of my dead aunts.

I didn't kill any puppies.

I can't talk to Ashley.

I have to go.

They don't stop assigning lab reports just because you get your girlfriend pregnant.

Or just because she's not pregnant anymore.


I want you in my arms like I want Ashley.

I'd teach you how to walk.

I'd teach you how to color outside the lines.

I'd blow off lab reports for you.

Mr. Adkins would blow a cork - then we could write a lab report on something that's interesting.

(if you liked this, please listen to Skillet's song "Lucy." It's extremely powerful ~not Ross)