B-Roomie
I don’t like watching myself brush my teeth.
It’s too vulnerable.
I can’t speak or I drip. I’m muffled by the paste.
On the toilet and gotta run? Drip drip.
It be like that in the bathroom. Or lavatory if you fancy… or not so fancy ‘cause you’ve got no tub or shower.
I might drip. Leak something. Tell you something I wish I hadn’t.
Or need to stand up (for myself) and be confined.
That room.
That intimacy is not to be disregarded. My eyes look wide. I return back to the womb. Complete dependence on being safe while I cleanse and release.
I grew up in a house where people were in and out of the bathroom like a revolving door. One person would be showering while someone was pee-ing and maybe another brushing their teeth, dependent on the time of day. Sometimes a tap tap on the shower curtain. Can I help you?
Late night, I would revel in that quiet bathroom time. The time when I had silence and safety.
I’d roll around in cradled infancy.
And when those eyes widen, I get nervous.
Who’s gonna be pee-ing next to me?