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.

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