"Antibacterial" by Tulsa House
The soap in the dispenser at my new job
smells like your parents old house:
a mix of cotton and oats—
as strange as that may sound.
And my stomach hurts like it did the last
night we spoke. You said I was irrational,
but I was really just lost, drowning
in desperate desire to be found.
By you, I had assumed. But as wheat wavers
in the wind on my drive home,
I feel a new wave of wisdom wash over me.
It was always about you. I wanted to be the sun for once—
and so you left before you could suffocate on my rays.
So now I ask: do you, once-lover, finally feel free?
If not, you can find me at my new work, worshipping a damn soap dispenser.