I like to cry in the shower because
the water mixes with my tears, my fears, my regrets and all the bets I made not to hurt myself again
but the blade, the match, the pills
they all take the pain away and bring in something new.
Something to help forget you and all the others and the pressure of being who my father wants me to be.
I like to cry in the shower because it helps me forget to be me,
helps me forget to be the me that I'm supposed to be.
But what if I don't want to be the me that I'm supposed to be-
what if I want to be the me that's just me?
I like to cry in the shower because it washes away my tears and soaks up the cold that lives in the hollow part of my chest.
The hollowness that aches at two AM when I wake from my nightmares of the doubles, the triples.
The empty that echoes three words when I hear your name.
The empty, the hallow that lives in my chest that nobody can really tame
or understand, for that matter.
I like to cry in the shower because it makes sense to me in a world that never ceases to confuse me.