The Bathroom Is My World

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just a poem I scribbled while feeling down.

Submitted: June 23, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 23, 2008



The world shrivels and shrinks,
Until the tiles and toilet
And shower curtain
Become continents.
My bathroom has become the world.

My tears become the raging storms,
My hands slamming on the marble,
Turn into earthquakes.
The heat of my cheeks is the sun,
I am the God of this small world of mine.

My depression was the genesis,
Why am I even crying?
Why has my bathroom
Become this world
Of torture and pain?

The real world should be mine,
The world of trees,
And clouds and houses.
But instead I am reduced,
To this bathroom world of tears.

The mirror shows me a red face,
The queen with the tissue crown,
Love, hate, distress, hurt,
No, not love. The desire of it.

I want to be loved,
But the toilet is cold,
I want to be held,
But the tile does nothing
Except catch my tears.

The tears fall like drops of rain,
The sun shines as my anger rises,
And still I huddle, holding myself,
As the world envelopes me in its hurt and tile.

© Copyright 2018 Allura Vaughn. All rights reserved.

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