there's a drain
in this ******
middle school bathroom.
shoulder to shoulder
stalls,
and toilet paper stuck
here, there,
and above me.
one light has burnt out,
and it smells like
feminine products,
cherry lip gloss,
and electric nerves.
but there is a drain,
and it is my favorite part.
because if my eyes squeeze shut
then i am bones,
liquefied,
slipping into the spaces,
joining the world underneath.
and i reform,
i solidify as a crying little girl,
who still has to do math tests.

r.c.