Dirty Water and A Wet Countertop

by Morgan Poile 2 years ago in slam poetry

A Poem About Regret

Dirty Water and A Wet Countertop
Photo credits to a dear friend, Matthew Mahoney 

I looked into the bathroom mirror

And a mascara smudged

Swollen lip girl looked back at me

I leaned on the cold countertop letting the pressure sting my thumb

My thumb where the devil whispered fire across the surface of my skin

Creating a bubble of a bad decision that would leave a scar.

A scar that would fade, but always be touched with a gentle throb of remembrance.

With my smallest finger I licked the tip

Giving it a Wet vodka soaked surface

I closed my eye and let my finger try to erase the black smudges underneath them only to create bigger ones

The crusty goo like mascara stretched over my dark bags and down my cheeks to where the apples peaked

Warm tears drew crystal paths through the dark pools of black

Their salty presence burning the lack of moisture in my face.

I turned the foset on and brought water to my eyes

Keeping them open in fear that I would see him there gripping me gently enough to feel safe and holding me tight enough to where I couldn’t escape

The burning of the hot liquid instigated the stinging of the mascara melting underneath my eyelids dying the whites of my eyes black

I let the warm tears cool down the burning in my eyes taking the mascara down my face into the pool of clear water in the sink

I looked up into the mirror. And for a moment I was okay.

But I touched the deep red of my swollen lips

They ached with resentment and were parched with pain but I couldn’t find the moisturizer I had for my lips

Of course

It was in the left cup of my bra

But I wasn’t wearing my bra anymore

Which was a shame. It was expensive.

Where the throbbing of my bottom lip met the parched skin of my recently dampened face

It burned like the sun hitting the sand right before the ocean water hits it.

And my bottom lip suffered because this ocean was dried up.

I looked in the mirror my cheeks red with regret

They were begging for attention

Because begging him to stop wasn’t enough

Because jeans and a sweater is such a tempting outfit choice for men

Because I’m completely without a doubt asking for it when I wasn’t even supposed to be there

Because my mascara smudges and sadness attracted him

I wonder if his cheeks got red like mine when I told him No.

I let the water fill the sink

And brought my hands together to submerge my face

The makeup that was left drew skin tone water art like a Chinese New Year without the celebration

The mascara that was left on my eyelashes filled the sink with crusty flakes and black residue

My lips throbbed with joy at the touch of cool against the burning flesh that was the only tang of dignity that I had left

And for a moment

I stood over the sink, avoiding the mirror in fear of seeing someone other than myself.

I watched my liquid nightmare slowly spiral down the rusted drain in a way that said it’ll meet me again

I closed my eyes and gripped the edge of the counter with both hands hoping and praying to a God that I didn’t even believe in

But I opened my eyes, it wasn’t a dream.

All I could see then

Was dirty water and a wet countertop

slam poetry
Morgan Poile
Morgan Poile
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Morgan Poile
friends and family didn't like that I only shared my writing with my 50 followers on tumblr. I saw an ad and laughed because just yesterday a friend told me I need to do something I love and be able to share it...all baby steps though.

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