Low. [poem]

bathroom floor, cold and uninviting

I trace the broken lines of paint on the wall

a mirror hangs but I can’t look into it

so I paint it black

I hear a pounding but it’s just the crashing of a broken heart

so I let the water scald my skin

etch a new pattern and carve a new look

I don’t recognize these blurred hands

they are weak and unsteady

I am drowning in a stream that’s no bigger than a drop

but I’m convinced that it’s a waterfall

I can’t hide that I’m overwhelmed

and maybe this cold, uninviting floor is the safest place to anchor myself

until I’m ready to scrape the black away from the mirror

and face myself.