The stall door doesn't lock right so I hold it with my shoe
by Recei
· 13/10/2025
Published 13/10/2025 17:42
The stall door doesn't lock right so I hold it with my shoe,
listening to the girls outside say things that aren't true.
They’re laughing about my sweater and the way I hold my breath,
and every stupid giggle feels a little bit like death.
I’m looking at the locker where the teal paint’s chipped away,
a jagged, rusted corner in the middle of the day.
They say these are the golden years, the best I’m gonna get,
which makes me want to disappear or place a losing bet.
My phone is vibrating with texts I’m never gonna read,
just more digital salt for a heart that’s started to bleed.
I’ll stay here in the peppermint smell of industrial soap
until the bell rings out the end of any kind of hope.