My Mourning Shower
Sometimes I climb in the shower,
and stand, bathing myself in glorious water,
waking up my senses,
realising the day is about to start...
And I cry.
That's as far as my strength goes,
if the morning is good.
Now I have to push,
push through the mental pain,
the wall,
the block,
that barbed wire fence.
Now I fight.
I cry because I am mourning.
Why have I lost my strength?
Why does anxiety riddle me
at the thought of washing my hair?
Something so simple,
a form of self-care.
I grieve the person I was.
The water hides my tears,
as I stand with no clothes on my back, stop
no armour for my war.
This is when I am at my weakest,
when the true me is exposed.
No one knows, no one sees,
because I need to survive.
But now, I've said it out loud -
my Achilles.
My kryptonite.
As I turn the shower off,
I hold my breath,
gather what pieces I have,
and make myself look whole.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
