steeped my
skin in ginger
a bathtub brew and
sweaty forehead

but i was
the teabag.

when i shut
my eyes
all i could see
was red lines

rubbing where
they should be
remembering
squinting my eyes
in main street sun
thighs burning

(dear goodness
i don't know how
i ended up here
again after so long)

opened my eyes
saw my wrists

white and
whiter scarred
but i always
picture them as
red and
redder slit.

gasping for hot
and humid air
motivation is
strangely illusive
but visualization
forever inclusive.

i'm boiling alive
or bathing to die
in scalding bathrooms
of appalling apathy.

Waking, I am left with my thoughts,
to contemplate myself, my being.
Questions of "What am I doing?",
Often tend to leave me fleeing.

Hot water pouring down my back,
in a shower of uncertainty
Standing still and all alone,
with a pressing sense of urgency.

But as always, I shake it off
and soon begin to dry.
The ending of this sentence,
is nothing, but a sigh.

Garnier.
The shampoo that makes you put your hands in the air
and scream and shout because you like the smell of your hair.
Disaster strikes when you find you've emptied your share.
So next day, you hurry back to the dragon's lair,
only to find a sign that says, "Buy one, get one free, if you dare."
You wonder why it doesn’t say, “Ferocious beast. Beware.”
Suddenly, you hear something scampering – a hare.
The beast is approaching. You escape but end up taking the pair.
You emerge from the shops feeling like royalty – the heir
to the magnificent and brilliant throne of Garnier.
Something strange is happening. You can feel it, on skin so fair,
with the wind chilling you to the bones and frizzing your hair.
Your ****** features tell it all, a reaction like that is rather rare.
In fact, one man notices you and continues to stare.
Sensing eyes, you turn around, see the man and glare.
You believe that men have no manners, something you should declare.
Yet many oppose your sentiments. They have faith in the mayor,
albeit they complain about the bus fare.
Return to reality. Why is it, your body feels bare?
Glancing at the empty bottle in your hand; a picture of a mare
and some words. You read it out loud, “Take care.
Garnier”.

i've been
showering on
sunday mornings
at ten thirty

(for my whole
life i've always
showered on
saturday nights)

but it kind of
helps to dim this
morose veil of
rainy silence

(it doesn't
actually
but i convince
myself that it does)

and i'm kind of
hoping that
sunday showers will
bring monday flowers

but i've seen a
saturday storm or two
and i know what a
friday flood looks like

tuesday torrents aren't so bad
after all and a thursday
thunderstorm is about the
same as a wednesday watered-down

but a sunday shower?
i've never seen a
monday flower
come from a hurricane.

i'm not showering any
more frequently than
i typically do

but every time i step in
that bathtub i swear
a whole day goes by

the water falling
turns into soft
concrete

and the drain
stops up and
i'm standing

ankle deep in
a brand new
sidewalk

soap suds running down
my legs and pooling
upon an unwalked path

and heaven only knows
how long before it all cracks
and i'm free.

I remember how the
Blood used to run down my back
Like I was killing
The back of my mind.

The blackness smearing
Down to my cheeks as I let
The water dissolve me like a
Sugar cube.

And I sometimes think how
Useless someone else's shoes are
Because to truly know someone
You must stand in their shower.

My shower is stained now
From the hard water
And there isn't any more
Blood.

Literal, metaphorical or
Fictional
It's all gone
Washed down the drain.

Hot, hot water
On a Friday night
Hot, hot water
It's not like it's that different.

But I still remember how the
Blood used to run down my back
Yet I'm still struggling to
**** the back of my mind.

Water seeps over me
Hot steam rising
Burning my flesh red
Trying to wash myself anew
A life free of pain
Of disgust
Of numbness
To feel alive
To a fresh life
To see a new me

Thoughts racing over life
Like a race car
Round and round in my head
Loudly and constant over things I regret
Things I wished for
Things I couldn't do
People who I hurt
People who hurt me
People who I needed in my life

Drying myself off still hurting
Muscles screaming at me
A headache building
Bruised and beaten like an abused
Abused from the past
Abused from the present
Abused from the thoughts of the future
Dreading life
Dreading reality
Dreading the fact that I was still hurting

Once in awhile
I feel inclined
To stay up all night
Writing stanzas like this.

And having drunk three
Shimmering tumblerfulls of
Self-doubting coffee
The prospect seems alive.

The longer I stay
Awake
The sooner I can
Reinvent myself.

My body is
Changing
And so is my
Soul.

And I'm beginning to see
Where I went wrong
In this world where I
Raised myself to be right.

However, if I stay awake
One cannot forget the issue of
Filled notebooks, attractive men
And tomorrow's frosted gaze.

Perhaps I will shower in
Whole-grain mustard at three a.m.

Waves of emotion
Wash over me,
Stains from hard water,
Reminding me
Who's daughter
I am.

These three walls
Carry the vibrations,
The tones,
The notes,
Bouncing around my head.
The current
Pulling back my hair,
Filling the water
With Amber waves of
Red.

And I wait patiently for
The thoughts
To jump back at me,
Like the music,
That partly drowns
Out
The shower.

Making constellations
With the freckles on my arm,
In decided desolation
I prefer my own brand
Of self harm.

Every now and then
I hear dripping,
And the ripping,
Of the seams of my reality
As I pick at each and every stitch.
I pick apart my life,
My decisions,
In my times for thought.

I tried not to be afraid,
Of the quiet,
And the silence,
But I'm more afraid I am.

Don't let your times for Thought
Be battles that you've fought.
Don't let your moments
Of reflection,
Become times of self rejection.
Don't be scared of self satisfaction,
Savor the seconds you've got.