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A Simillacrum Jun 2018
I get up in the morning, sometimes still high from the night before, sometimes sober, sometimes wake and bake. I head into the bathroom, stand there to *** and force myself to look down at the ***** between my legs. Years and years have built up to an acceptance of my genitals from a foundation of hate.

I force myself to look myself in the face in the mirror, run my hands from ear to chin along my jaw, along the hair that represents to others a definitive flaw in my character, to myself, well, represents a certain type of shame. You see, everyone's convinced that women don't or should not grow hair in certain places.

Regardless of my status as a transgender individual, can't you see the stress this lays, the autonomy it takes from other women, too? It's like no one's ever heard of Punjabi peoples, it's like no one's ever heard the word hirsute, so the odds are higher some are inclined to shave their bodies in preparation for dresses or water fun, but I digress.

I run the water hot, it burns, I run the water on the array of razor blades and drag it gentle across the skin of the neck and down the cheeks, bottom lip and upper lip, then over both my brows. I wish I didn't have to do this, but I feel it deepest down that it will benefit me the most if I can push to survive more close calls so I may appreciate myself.
Ramble ramble.
sammy Jun 2018
i sit with my legs uncrossing on the toilet seat, 7th period
smells of puberty
of wasted ambition and scathing regret of everything
of whispered secrets and sore thighs, ***** dripping out between your lips into the bowl
of tortured angst, of pulling your skin taut and drawing the blade against you over and over, for trusting someone like him
of hope that the next day will be better than today (it isn't)
of high school.
written in 2018
Kathryn Rose Apr 2018
Appearing in the dark,
You wrap around my love,
In greedy form.
A knife in my heart, I'm bleeding.
Frozen, watching you.
Laughing, no one seems to notice you
Sitting with ease, on his lap.
Unknowingly, my legs take me,
quickly,
out of your sight.
The bathroom mirror reveals
The true reflection of the woman
Living in fear.
Build my confidence, glass.
Erase the flutter in my stomach.
Stitch the wound in my heart.
Strong, beautiful woman -
Saunter back to your seat.
Sit with his friends,
Strangers to you.
Look in his golden eyes.
See his truth,
She disappears.

Imagine the present, reality.
Forget not the honesty.
She does not exist any place,
Other than your fragile mind.
Dakota J Dawson Feb 2018
A white porcelain
Porcupine

Sits atop
The stool

Beside a resting
Toilet and silent sink

Drains are clogged
Must be the fog

Airing up
Inside the room

Thick and heavy
Full of cream

Like a hot
French Pastry

Soap melts
Into a fine cappuccino

Skin is soft
Not smooth

Rugged
Tired of the water's touch

Lips separated
Leaking drool

An earlier soft drink
Makes its appearance

Sake makes my soul
Gold and sublime

A snowball I received
To the face

Magical cocktail
Island tragedy

In Paris
Couped up

Stuck in a bathroom
Head bobbing

Up
And Down

Swaying
Side to side

Direction unchosen
Ears sweetened

By a tranquil
Heavenly sound

A song
Heartfelt poem

Layne's voice
Shouting from the void

Guitar strings
Beats of a drum

Native quotas
Unremembered

Just peace
No hate

Possible gain
***** to be given

Snowflakes
Fall upon my brow

Hissing in the heat
Chilling a man-made sea

Fingers tingle
Fabricating a jingle

Eyes swell
Blochted art on the walls

Feet numb
Deciding to stick around

Like a sore gum
Withered with gin

My armor
Solid arms

Continue to fall
Down with my divinity

I am Lucifer
Shining meteor of false hope

Chest heaves
I begin to grieve

Hope for a dawn
Pray to hear a new song

But here he comes
I am bleeding

Shaken by the storm
Overcome

Laughter
And crying

This means
I am dying

But,
Is the time right?
Louisa Coller Feb 2018
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.
Sabila Siddiqui Feb 2018
Bathrooms became sanctuary in high school;
with tear stained countertops,
gossip soaked walls.
Even the constipated souls
had motion.

Pressing their hands against the ceramic demilune sinks
they would let their tears flow like water through the faucet,  
until they found comfort in the arms of another.

Hours spent before, between and after classes
they found comfort and friends
in the conversation that flowed in the bathroom.

Checking themselves over and over again
with the reassuring voices, “you look great” from behind.
Some walk in and hide behind the door of the lavatory stalls,
flushing away sadness,
and washing on a smile on to their face.

Like the granite in the slabs, the memories made
will will be hard to wear off.
The memories made through raw conversation in the bathroom
Janie Elizabeth Oct 2017
He's laying there alone,
on the bathroom floor.
His whole shirt is soaked,
from where his blood poured.
A tear fell from his eye;
he let out a shaky breath.
He said, "I don't wanna die,
but I want death."
because
He's just an invisible stranger,
lost in the crowd.
His voice is getting weaker,
as he's shouting out.
"Can anybody see me?
Can anybody hear me?
The invisible Stranger!
The invisible!"
This is from a song I wrote about a year back, hope you enjoy
Pete Leon Oct 2017
Condensation drawing,
On mirror, one morning,
What I saw, blew mind
Made me turn, look behind

There stood, with a knife
At the throat, of wife
Her screams, all could hear
My heart, burst with fear

With panic, in my chest
Took swing, for the best
caught hard, in the face
Knife dropped, grasp, race

Me first, knife, mess
Him blood, life less
Wife safe, me shocked
Bathroom exit, door locked
Miss Clofullia Sep 2017
I am a simple man –
I still enjoy the lost art of
washing your hands before and after
using the bathroom,
I find courage in the occasionally tap on the back,
when everything goes dark,
and the back alley looks like a modern piece of art.
I try not to live the same day over and over again, but,
somehow, I end up making the same mistakes,
closing all the doors that are left open
for me.
I’m never early to a party.
I’m never late, either. I just don’t get invited anymore.
When I was little, I was mesmerized
by the choir of voices in my head –
now I’m just irritated by their meaningless noise.
The 4 rooms seem smaller and things are moving like crazy –
it’s like an earthquake inside this heart of mine
that’s behaving from time to time
like a lady with high heels and low standards.

I am a simple man –
I manage to complicate everything
in the simplest way.
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