Poem – She showered long and hard

The words were dark today. I was dark. I even had my nails painted black in an effort to steal the darkness from within, to expel it elsewhere.

Below is a snippet of the words that swirled within. I could have presented it in a more standard poetic form but instead I’m posting it as it came out of me, sort of a poetic prose if you will. If you become breathless while reading it, go with it. I found myself reading it aloud many times, I too becoming breathless, and realised that’s a fitting reaction. I share a lot of positivity on FIMW, but as they say, with light comes darkness.T x – – –

She showered long and hard, but no coarse cloth could scrub the scar, and her belly still sagged and her breasts still ached, her pits still stank, and even with washed hair it would not dry right, and maybe she woke on the wrong side of the bed, perhaps it was all in her head, but the days felt rough across her skin and the nights were rough seas she was drowning in, and the showers they are long and hard but she still comes out dirty and milk stained and bloodied and tearful, she dresses in expectations and smiles and breathes out so others can breathe her in and take what’s left of her, and she slumps internally with her back upright as she goes back to the shower to sway side to side as if her arms are still full of baby, but he sleeps soundly in the rocker holding the door ajar so that he may never be too far, so she can hear any gurgle he might make, every breath that he will take while she scrubs nail beds and wets her head and talks down irrational thoughts and fears, wringing out the constant drumming in her ears, she exfoliates her pores and begs and pleads to want no more but just to be, and feel, and see, the water, just the water, just to be.

She showered long and hard.