Bathroom Ideas

Wrote this while my friend and I were changing for P.E.
Keep in mind, I do not do her any justice.
--on a side note...I feel slightly useless. I never blog. I just post my shit and logout.--



Balanced on the sink,
there is an instinct:
the instinct of a wounded animal to hide.

Stockings furl gently over timidly
scarred kneecaps (too many nights pretending
not to pray), tuck-and-rolling around
those thighs; thighs with muscles that
run the full length
up,
like a seam: a seam in too-tight jeans.

She stands, tugging her skirt down,
always down in the back, front, right side,
left side because short is not enough fabric
to conceal all
the sensitive spots she thinks she
owns like rainbow wristbands.

There is a vagueness in her movements
that makes you wish for more.

Lonely eyes glimmer green in
passing; eye contact a thing of
fleeting beauty and expression:
always a half-smile hidden on
pavement-lined lips: bitten red.
A loneliness seeps into those steps --
shuffle-shuffle, shuffle-scuff
-- so shallow and innocent.
She does not look at herself in the mirror
unless to paint her face away,
pencil on eyelids.

There is a tenderness in the way
she braids her hair over one shoulder
because there is no one to
do it for her.