i hate showers by vee venning

i hate showers:

The shampoo and conditioner bottles sit,
mostly untouched
on the flat, matte, boring tile that I don’t very much like.
It reminds me of salt and pepper, but not the kind from home,
no, it reminds me of the sad, very nearly empty ones that sit on the tables of the dining hall of this place that’s my house but not really my home.

My soap sits in a cute pink bin with its cute pink hearts, pretty enough to look at but not pretty enough to use.
I don’t like how the tiles feel beneath my feet,
and I hate how the cold air embraces me in my awkward rush to wrap myself in a towel as I get out of this shared shower that’s ours but not mine
My nakedness feels far too stark in this bathroom. With all of its mirrors and salt and pepper floors, it feels even more wrong than usual.
I hate moving everything back to its place in the pink bin that doesn’t quite fit it all in right,
and I hate getting dressed without being able to escape my own gaze.

I close my eyes in the shower, and even then it doesn’t feel the same;
I open them and the floors are still there, speckled in that pattern I hate