deeples

The bathroom at work, a poem.

October30

Ode To A Poo Nugget
Poor, forgotten poo nugget
floating in the handicap disabled really big stall
in the 3rd floor bathroom
why… why are you always left behind?
Why must I swing open the door
and see you floating and bouncing
in the white porcelain bowl?
Are you the guardian of the stall?
Refusing to go to your final resting place?
You guard it well from me, nugget.
For I tell you this:
You are not my poo nugget!
I will not risk sitting on that pot
lest you refuse to go down again
and I, horribly, mistakenly, humiliatingly
am thought to be the leaver of said floater!
Nay, poo nugget, nay!
I will go in stalls one or two instead.
I will giggle to myself when I hear someone else
some unsuspecting coworker
enter the stall.
Beware the poo nugget –
he is small, but mighty.

Wednesday

September12

I cried 3 times on Wednesday

isn’t how it usually goes

makes it no less true

Once for me

Once for her

Once for me again

Recounting a story about

17 year old me

Pathetic me. Predicably me.

Funny how 20 years can pass

and still that fucking jab in your belly

is still as vicious and stabbing. Funny how easily I remember

every word

that I would eat whole… or bury in concrete

if I could.

Another story,

probably too personal to share

but share I did, because I have to let it out sometimes

a story about a butterfly

and a little purple blanket and a little flower

a baffled friend

who didn’t know how to stop me from sobbing

in the middle of the cafeteria at work

I always think that I won’t cry when I tell that story

and I always do. I always will.

And again, for me

because, why not?

It’s almost midnight and my thoughts are raw

and my skin vibrates and pulls

a day full of stories

and a night thick with fear

that I’m kidding myself

again.

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