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