Many people may be shocked when I say this,
but I spent my life in a bathroom.

I remember day one, they told me,
"Don't be insecure, get up and go".
I took a breath and asked politely;
"Please may I go?" as I skipped on my way.

But one day it didn't go my way,
in fact, it was a mess in more than one way.
I smiled politely as she shut me up tightly, so I sat there silently.
And away I went anyway, but with embarrassment all over me.

Whispers and ambitions as my small self-awaited, the birthday queen yet trapped the whole day, I stumbled and fell and stood in the stall, refusing to show my face, as the giddy giggles, the notes, and the scribbles were passed for two whole days.

Then the parties, the drunken states, the boy's lips, the lights and daze, the moment of freedom, yet trapped all the same.
I'd make my way to that very same place, standing and staring anticipating and glaring before violently sprinting away.

Then the moment that smashes you open, the moments that remind you of your emotionless moments, the one day you chose not to stay in the way was the one day death takes your place, he struts and glares down the way to enter a bathroom in joy.

But here I stare and wonder at what would happen if I came too.

But now I access a simple bathroom, anytime, any day any moment, but because of that day the one that I missed, she remains a memory and not a face.

It might sound weird, but I spent my life in a bathroom,
admiring the textures, the floors, the technical.
But if there was one thing I'd do,
trade every day for the one I wasn't.