Dear My Shower, 

“Don’t touch my stuff!” she yells

“It’s my turn for the T.V.” he tells

I’ve learned to share, compromise

but with you can I be selfish, greedy

I can be happy, sad, or feel nothing at all

You don’t expect,

You don’t judge

I reflect, I sing, I cry

You take the dirt, the grime and the pain

I watch as it runs down my legs,

slipping past my toes,

down the drain

A tabula rasa, a clean slate

as I venture into a new day, 

uncertain of whatever stress, sadness, 

or joy that may come

But knowing that you’ll be there

to take whatever I may bring

                             Yours truly, 

                                         Vala 

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