I look down at the hundred-foot drop.
Then at the thick rope that binds me to safety.
Bungee jump. Just do it.

I gaze into his adoring eyes.
Then gulp and wipe my sweaty hands on my jacket.
Kiss him. Just do it.

I doodle on my paper.
Then think, what's twenty-seven divided by nine?
Math homework. Just do it.

I reach out to ring the doorbell,
Then pull my hand away.
Apologize. Just do it.

I glare at the dirty kitchen,
Then look longingly at the TV.
Clean the kitchen. Just do it.

I look at her answers – correct answers, I know.
Then at my own erased paper.
Cheat. Just do it.

I twiddle my thumbs in the waiting room.
Then look into the ER.
Say good-bye. Just do it.

I kissed the boy. I jumped from the cliff.
I apologized to my best friend.
I did my homework. I copied her answers.
I said good-bye in the end.

I did it all.

Was it wrong? Was it right?
Was it day? Was it night?
When did it happen? Where were you?
How did it happen? Would you have, too?

Choices, choices. Go ahead. Just do it