deepundergroundpoetry.com
Dealing With Lifes Quirks.
Foot shaking in a motion almost feverish
Bumping the sketchpad incessantly underneath her pencil
Eyes darting minutely back in forth in anticipation
The image drawn suddenly having more meaning than planned
She shuts the pad suddenly and sighs
The world is getting to her again.
She stands and with a wave of her hand dismisses herself
Walking up the creaking stairs and clutching a towel
Taking another deep breath to calm her jittery nerves
Descending with a placid expression as always
Opening the bathroom door
It shuts with a click.
A sudden rush of electricity contorts her body
Overwhelming her mind with a feeling of elation
Hands dragging down the slippery plastic walls
Eyes suddenly blind to nothing but the truth
Clutching her body in fearful excitement
It ends in an instant.
Blocking out her thoughts to calm her
She turns the shower on hot to soothe the mania
Stripping off her worldly clothes and accessories
Sitting down at the bottom of the bathtub
Listening to the drops wash down the drain
Just like the rest of the world.
Blocking the flow she watches the water rise
Not in a menacing way but a soothing way
The girl makes sure to sit very still as to hear the rain
As it crashes into the pooling water
Filling up the tiny tub
Enveloping her in watery arms.
Slowly but carefully she puts her head under the surface
Hands feeling her short curls loosen in the liquid
Reminded of past pleasures as a child
When she used to hold her breath for long periods
She relieves these memories one dunk after another
All moments have an ending.
Turning off the shower and pulling the plug
She steps out of the shower feeling like a new person
Drying off the insecurities though they still linger
Hoping that she will sleep tonight
Not be woken rudely by a shaking foot
Dreaming in something nonexistent.
Published 22nd Feb 2012
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 4
reading list entries 1
comments 2
reads 155
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
22nd Feb 2012 3:19am
For me, a page of good prose is where one hears the rain and the noise of battle. It has the power to give grief or universality that lends it a youthful beauty.Turn the shower on with the pug in. I still do this. I pretend I'm in a sinking submarine. I'm so glad to see you post. O! How I have missed you doll.
23rd Feb 2012 2:31am
