My toilet won’t stop running;
it keeps a solid tune from the bathroom.
It screams at me to say,
“the on-duty maintenance team
probably does not want to come see me
at 9 in the evening.
But I will make them come anyway.”
I do not care.
Well, only a little bit.
The new student lost their identity today,
saw the pages of the ID swift by him
like a Volkswagen on the summer highway.
Wide eyed and in what seems to be a new place,
he only found that thieves know no zip code.
Before this happened, I brushed my teeth.
I bit my nails over the cracked mirror in my bathroom.
At 3 am I thought about the ways in which a thousand
hours studying may not ever give me stability.
I thought about the presentation today.
But in the midst of a person
who has lost everything that
was able to get him where he needed,
nothing but this mattered.
And at least I have myself,
a file of experiences and documents
that prove my existence.
I know that I can use my hands
and fill the back of my rusted toilet,
muffling the screams that keep
me awake at night.
About the Creator
Ti Ana
Writing: surreal poetry, random thoughts, and more.
Insta: tianaishere
Wanna tell me something? Email [email protected]
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