This is an ode to the tests at the bottom of my trash can

Here lies the hopes of a women.

Buried under toilet paper and tampons,

There lies the last test she’s taken.

She cries to the universe,

Why?

She laments in a sorrowful ode.

An ode to the pink tests

The now trash, that has been wasted.

After a year or more of trying

She looks at her only child with beams of adoration,

And feels guilty.

Other women can’t even have one.

And here she is bummed,

That her belly isn’t ripe as a plum.

Her garden is barren,

Yet she keeps buying tests.

Hopeful, that maybe this month will be different.

Maybe a lifestyle change will help,

Fad diets, and exercises

She pushes herself to the edge.

Then gets discouraged

She was never taught how to live healthy.

Now she thinks maybe she should get wealthy,

Maybe the universe will give her another blessing,

If she wraps her chaos in another dressing.

But, that is impossible

Since her flow is unstable

Her mentality is too.

Instead, she dreads the little pink lines

That only pop up once each time.

A hundred or more in landfill now

Will she stop? Does she know how?

She’ll stop for a month,

Then get her hopes up

Only to be crushed again.

What a vicious cycle she’s in.

When will it end?