not my plan

I tremor at the sight of it in front of me,

The silly infant sitting on her lap

Which has no right to be there.

Its appetite is gigantic.

Its temper is small. 

This is an obligation I will never escape.

I want the satisfaction 

Of popping it open like a pimple,

To see it ooze all over the ground,

I will grub at the insides, 

Searching for what makes it so special.

The words “angel baby”,

Or “perfect father”,

Always seemed oxymoronic to me.

No baby is an angel,

And no father will ever be perfect,

I certainly will not be. 

That thing that just stares,

And eats,

And shits,

Is something I will never be proud of.

About the Author

JJ Demetrius is a sophomore English and Creative Writing Major. On campus, she is involved in Civic Scholars, Because Arcadia Blog, STAMPs, and is a Student Ambassador. They also went on FYSAE London last year to study abroad! Writing is a true love for them and she hopes to become a published author one day.