through water and soap,
i hope that one day
that shower floor won't feel familiar.
i hope that tracing the cracks in the tiles
with my fingers
won't feel like a filthy soliloquy.
i hope it won't feel
like a hymn i must keep to myself
and never let me leave my silent state
while dusty figurines
and sewer rats stare
as if i'm some crazy man on a subway
who won't stop yelling
about aliens or some ****.
but when it comes down to it,
i hope i can feel the water
run down my skin
without the memories
of the cold, hard tiles
beneath my feet.
and the lights will turn on
and i'll see everything the way it is
i'll be whatever i am
with water in my eyes
on my skin,
on my hands.