Fall 2017 final digital.pdf


Michaela White

I’m just sitting. 

I’m sitting in the bathtub. My knees are up against my chest and I can see 
the scrapes on them,

My arms are wound around them, my veins showing through, my knuckles 
scarred, and

I can feel my ribs through skin though I am not touching them. 

For once I ignore it. 

Water drips down my face, moving around the hollows of  my eyes,

strange,

That I am a strange creature here and now and always,

Trying desperately not to think of  anything. 

I stare at the tiles of  the wall, but they don’t stop it. 

The only color left is my bruises. 

I wish I was not in love with color.