I sit in my bathtub
writing a poem to no one
about a dumb topic
as stupid tears fall down my face
in rivulets.
One drop,
two drops,
three drops falling,
each tumbling down my face
each stupider than the last,
making me disgusted,
my face scrunched in distaste.
My breathing is labored,
my face wet and hot,
my legs. that were once curled up
and held by my arms
are now extended,
allowing my back to lean
on the other side of the tub
as tears make their way down my face,
trailing down my neck,
splashing onto my collarbone.
Stupid tears!
Why the hell are you here?
Why must you plague me with your presence?
Stupid tears!
You come once in a while,
bringing me down, making me think.
Stupid tears!
My heart screams,
my eyes wet with unshed tears,
my face stained with the ruthless sting.
Stupid tears!
Another just fell,
splashing my shirt,
dampening my face.
My head hurts
my brain going haywire,
my feelings scrambled
YOU ARE READING
Body {Prose Vol. 1}✔
Poetry❝A struggle with body image is a study of physicalities and of the mind itself, for the mind plays with what the eyes perceive. The body, mind, and soul are connected, and it is up to us to determine how to respect them.❞ - Me These writings are my...
