The water was pink
from a scarlet bath bomb,
long since faded away
when my confidence left.
I lay there,
my hair fanning out in the wet,
my face poking up above what could be called tiny waves,
wanting to soak up the bravado
of the original hue.
Who was I?
The girl pruning in the bath for “relaxation” –
what was I trying to escape?
What was I trying to avoid?
I wanted the brave girl,
the one whose head rose out of the water in the pictures
with her perfect eyeliner,
who smirked and knew more about myself than I did.
But she wasn’t there,
and I was just left with me.
The me I did not want to be.
The one who was sensitive, and too much;
the one who second-guessed every well-laid plan.
The one who, when faced with danger, ran
faster than her feet could take her
away from it all.
This is who was in the bath.
She and I were hiding
from the stress,
of everyday life.
I sat up with this realization, and I was cold.
Bitter chills ran through me,
and to hide I lay back in the lukewarm water,
now almost faded clear.
And the final question ran through me,
as I was imprisoned out of fear:
When can I be out of here?