A poem, posted after playing too much Oregon Trail

Disclaimer: the f-word and unpleasant subject matter are lurking.


"Alannah"

Once, I swore
to myself and my mother
that I would never end up
like you.
No repeats of three years ago,
the blasts that very nearly
brought blood-bonds to
shards, sharp glass slicing
the metaphorical hands that fed.
Community college drop out,
no ziplock bags of cloy-smelling weed
for prying younger cousins to find.
I wonder now how much you paid,
gone in an instant when we
threw it away.
I blame you for my fear of sex.
Beautiful, unwanted child carried to full-term,
swollen belly sequined and white.

No. I wouldn't. Couldn't.

But last month I ran away,
only for the night,
to get the fuck out--
and I thought of you,
realized that my decisions
were well on their way
to echoing yours.