Jun 12
it’s so hard, and it’s cold here.
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it’s so hard, and it’s cold here.
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1/11.2025 - the bathroom floor in reasonable light - we have to put a matte finish on it.
Mid-sized Mediterranean freestanding desk in study room with brown floor, wallpaper, and dark wood floors.
Exterior Painting Auckland
she has autism you bitch.
You have never lived unless you've physically placed yourself inside a bathroom, sat on the floor and read the few remaining chapters of a book series only to end up sobbing salty tears and kissing the cover like its a lover
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I am no poet, but when I hurt, I find outlet in tears and words. I was out of the former today. If you’re staying, please be prepared to embrace the bad poetry.
I’m tired of bathroom floors
I’m so tired of the bathroom floors
The bathroom stalls
The stickers on the doors
I’ve sat in front of them for so long,
I should remember what they said;
But I don’t know, they were all blurry and
I was too focused on counting my breaths,
Hold it down, behave,
and then a new wave
Rumbling
Six bathrooms. Take a deep breath for each one.
One - Why am I not good enough
Two - Why didn’t you at least smile
Three - Why does it hurt so much
Four - What do I want from you
Five - Why do I have to lose you over and over again
Six - Why have you abandoned me
(You’ve grown but I haven’t)
In the mirror recognising a version of myself,
deriving strange pleasure from observing my changed form,
Eyes squeezed tight,
skin bulging, peeled red grapes,
a grimace for a face,
In the moment I am the wave,
Flooding the bathroom floors
The stalls, drowning the stickers on the doors.
Why is there always a new way it can hurt?
A bad poem offers no relief,
no replacement.
But I tried.
Lmao noooo I'm not sitting on the bathroom floor binge reading Eddie fics
here’s to teenage memories