to the women who linger in the restroom stalls,
What are you doing?
Go hang out somewhere else so I can **** in peace,
there can’t be anything on that phone of such importance that you are willing to sit next to me in a stall and listen to my body obliterate this toilet..
A person can only hold it in for so long..
the rest room is supposed to be the one place to let it out,
to have some privacy to expel the days waste without feeling like I’m interrupting your third break today so you can doom scroll Facebook while I writhe in pain on the throne next to you,
as someone who is one of many who suffer in this country with bowel issues, I am just suggesting that if you hear someone’s intestines screaming across the room, it’s time to flush the toilet and let some blood return to your legs so that human can feel better.
Thank you.. sincerely,
the feet under the stall

Shame...
Makes me want to hide.
Pull the covers up,
Remain inside.

Shame...
Muddies the water,
Robs me from being authentically me;
Bona fide, don't falter.

Shame…
Distorts reality,
But it's banality, so
Relax the hyper-vigilanty.

Shame…
Is like two *******,
Whispering about my defects
Keeping me in stitches.

Shame…
Is an unwanted cloak
That I'm taking off now,
To live, bespoke!

More complex than Pythagoras;
A bland pallet beckoning discovery, calling intrepid adventurers to see the beauty in the desert.
Causing admiration and repulsion; Frankenstein-esk, forever a mystery.
Days numbered as the hairs on your head; a cold case beset for the archives or a small child screaming “pick me!”?

I've just got mirrored doors
On my cupboard,
They open my room up far and wide;
Once a shoe cupboard,
My room was small and dingey,
now it's light and open.
Very far from stingy.
But now I can see, more…
All of me,
All that I do,
And say.
I want to take off
Those mirrored doors,
And lay where I can't be
Exposed.

My curls, full and voluminous, I treasure
Each one tells a story.
People flock to touch,
Grasping them like gold,
They ask: “How did you get them such?”
“Are they natural?” Some scold,
In a world full of fakes, that hits like a punch.
“Yes!” I reply with pride,
My curls are my mane, grabbing them, I scrunch,
Jealousy can slide!
My curls are my shield;
They mask my doubt, comparisons
Much profit they yield!
You can tell a lot from my curls:
When I am tired and lazy,
When I treat them like 'my girls,'
When I'm sassy and crazy.
When they’re not washed for weeks,
My mental health radar
Send me obvious tweaks -
“Don’t disconnect, come back, savour,
Reconnect with yourself and the world,”
My curls are my most significant feature;
My crown of glory.