megan rosta
wash rinse repeat
I close my eyes to shampoo
vulnerable
and that’s when I hear it
knock knock knock
The soap runs down my face
as my eyes dart open
to see the empty bathroom
through the fogged glass
Across the bathroom
I expect to see my reflection in the mirror
exposed
but my view is blocked
A hideous dark figure
stares back at me
jeering
hateful.
It preys on my vulnerability
my exposed.
The soap forms big bubbles
as I scrub and scrub
trying to get rid of the figure
the darkness.
As I watch the water
run down the drain
I can breathe again
until I realize
getting rid of my monster
is going to take more than one cycle.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
Hubba Bubba Bubblegum
Your back moves farther
and farther from me,
the string that once
connected us getting
longer,
thinner…
like a string of fragile,
hours-old
chewed-so-long-your-jaw-hurts,
not-pink-but-gray bubblegum.
Snap.
I want to run after you.
I want to drag my half
of stringy gray gum
and attach it to yours,
the one dragging behind you.
I want to mush them back
together, make them pink again…
make me pink again.
But my feet are still planted
where yours are not,
and your string –
my chance at pink –
falls to the ground
with one, last, dull smack.