I sit on the edge of the white plastic bathtub.
Naked feet dangle,
brush cold tile.
Vulnerability creeps closer,
soft skin tightens in disbelief,
stomach clenches in confusion.
Doubt trickles down my legs
like shampoo mixed with stories of past;
runs off into shower drain.
I question:
the deepness within me,
the stillness throughout.
How is it,
after these long years,
I still manage such emptiness?
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