Shower Floor

Water pelts into the skin of my hip as I lay curled on the shower floor.
Water trapped where my body meets the edges of the tub
ebbs and flows over my cheek as it gently rises;
a stark contrast to the sting of hot water as the shower beats down on me.
I can’t move. 
Can’t shift to ease the pain seeping it’s up through my body.
I mean I know I can. I know I can move around the tub with ease.
But the new protrusions of my hips provide a focal point,
a grounding if you will, so I let the floor bite and the water sting.
Images after images flash through my mind,
distracting me from the burning in my throat from the violent retching
that led me to crawl into the shower in the first place.
I’m so exhausted. So cold.
It’s scary,
how easy it is to turn my head into the water now licking my lips,
and let myself breathe out and let go.
So I curl tighter,
my knees digging into the wall as I plant my feet behind me
and breathe.
I feel the water,
I hear it fall.
I see my hand disappearing under the slope of my arm.
An hour on the floor,
unable, unwilling to move,
I hear the music through the shower door,
the universe seems to follow my mood.
There is nothing but pain, and cold,
despite, or maybe in spite, of the heat burning at my hip.
My hip is numb now.
pins and needles are beginning to work their way through my feet.
But I curl tighter, unsure if the water flowing down my face
is from the shower, or from my eyes.
But I know the sobs that tear through my already battered throat are mine.
They are always mine.
Begging to be held, but unable to be touched,
so I continue to exist,
twisted at the bottom of this cracked tub
that has played my sanctuary for far too long.
Seen more than my tears sweeping down its drain.
But there are no open wounds tonight.
These are wretched in their existence,
enclosed under hair and bone and skin
that cracks, but never bleeds,
unless tears count.
I guess they do.
The water is going cold,
and fear of it grips my already sore abdominals,
but I can’t move, I’m not ready to.
I’m too tired.
Too lost in the sound of my screaming thoughts
and the water against my skin.
5 more minutes.
Sanctuary, please.
My head tucks further into the water trapped under it.
5 more minutes.


What's Your Perspective?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s