Miscarriage.

This is out of order. It shouldn’t come just yet.
But it’s in my mind.
Today.
I am there again.
Today.
I am seeing the wet red on the tips of my fingers.

I was pregnant. I was bulimic.
I was having therapy. It was not helping.

I had a miscarriage at my ninth week of pregnancy.

That was two years and five months ago.

I was selfish.
I am selfish.
I should have stopped making myself sick. I was not an adult.
I didn’t put that growing baby first.

I have been punished.