Dry Bathtub, I Shall Fill You This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

June 16, 2010
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Oh, don't speak about me Momma, I don't want to hear these things
I don't feel like knowing my potential, passed away
Sleepy, slipping inn and out of ironed linen sheets
Your voice melding in with all my long laid dormant dreams.

This fear of being small hath led me to despair
The empty cry of "not enough" hath broken all my will for life
So as I toss in fitful sleep, without enough rest to think
All that comes to mind is that I'm not of age to drink.

Sitting in this bathtub dry with books laid cross my lap
Studying their content dry and useless like a slap
Laid to my face by unseen hands that I can't bite or hit
My brain is full and I can't think, so I shall sob instead.

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