Bath Tub

Today I attempted to drown myself in the bath tub
But I kept floating to the surface
The water was blistering
I stripped down until I was naked
There was nothing sexy about me

The water started overflowing
Along with my thoughts
With force I held my body underneath
Until the lack of oxygen started to feel like a gun shot
in my chest

I can't rest,

in peace.

This isn't working out for me.

Maybe it is this that explains why my mother had a C section
Because she would rather lay numb and painless
Only with a scar to remind her of the day I almost drowned
In some poetic form of amniotic fluid that represented her
affection for me

Bath tubs aren't meant for drowning grown women
And I won't stop growing
It's an ache I'll always despise
My body won't stop floating
This can only mean I'm meant to rise