in the middle of March
the bathroom floods
wade through the water
towards the shower drain
cold and wet, I pick apart the matted hair
– my chewed off fingernails are no good in here –
I dig for hours on end until it is unearthed
long forgotten, it sits under the water
staining it red
it must have fallen out many months ago,
or invisible hands reached up and ripped it from my chest;
no stranger to the pain, I wouldn’t have noticed
but now am I expected to dust it off and put it back in its rightful place?
after living for so long without it,
this is how I learned to be
no, back into the drain it goes.
I’ll call the plumber tomorrow.
Paige Garner is a first-year Creative Writing student, working on her portfolio of poetry published as a collection in the near future. Growing up as a woman in the changing world has lead to a feeling of discontent, prevalent in her writing. She writes a lot about her experience as a young world designed for men. The anger drives her, inspires her, insists that she makes her voice heard. Check out her poetry on her Instagram dirtbabypoetry