This is my bathroom.
I made it.k
We made it.
With crayons and markers. Drugs and love.
Friends and shame.
They all help.
This is also their bathroom. It has been used for
sex, vomiting, illicit drug use,
ranting, raving, laughing, crying,
waiting, farting, washing, fucking, drinking,
fucking, dumping, unwanted
cell phone conversations, etc.
is another Dimension. Drunken powerful entities have entered only to
Return to the other world
an enlightened more potent being. They came only for
their own necessary actions of
being human, inhuman. They went to our
bathroom for selfless and selfish pleasure attacks
longing to retreat from languid dispositions.
Retract, refine and redefine. I redeem myself here.
I redefine myself out there, when I go back.
My bathroom tells me that it is the only place
I can be alone.
It is sympathetic, accepting
and even apologetic. It cares for me and my needs.
It asks me how far I can run away. I stumble
to answer I do not know, nor for it have I much concern
I could run around the entire world
twice, ten times, a thousand or more!
I thought I had already in mind,
but oh! How it expands!
Infinite waters rush with rage
Despite all this, I shall never have or obtain
the ability to remain.
My bathroom explains to me that
I am dying when I could be thriving.
I am alone among the piggies in this decrepit sty
we call Prevalence. Despite everything,
I decided then I do not
believe in love or any sinking ship.
Best of all, I have found my crayon.
Creative Arts House of OWU
Written in the bathroom, 2010.