Lavatory Walls
My walls are covered with marks
So don’t try to tell me that
I am defined by what lies within
Because hiding in that restroom stall
I believe the things I see
And I won’t hide from the truth pretending
What I have to show is different from what they have to say
There is no doubt about it
I am chewed up, spit out, even unwanted
And not one word scratched into the tile will make me believe
I deserve the chance to own my own walls
Because no matter what
I don’t deserve to narrate my own story
And I hold no control to even consider that
My feelings can pour over rejection like paint
Because when I stare off into these walls I think
Am I truly the person defined with these marks?
*If you would be as kind as to read it backwards