BATHROOM STALL BLUES

This one is for all the social outcasts of the world.

I want to pour out my feelings.
Empty my head of all these feelings
Rattling in my space
Like the tail of the rattlensnake
That bit and poisoned me.
These festering feelings
Rattling in my space
About how lonely I am
Among all these strangers at work
Not to mention useless
In my Dilbert, sensory-deprived cubicle.

I slip into further seclusion
When I can't take anymore isolation.
I go to the one place I feel still alone but safe.
I slip into the stall, twisting the bolt in place.

At least the goddess on my porcelain altar understands me.
She takes me in, holds me,
Wipes away my tears with toilet paper.
And gives me the friendship I need
When no one else will give me the time of day.

Like all the times I offered to get lunch,
I thought, "Maybe they'll remember my thoughtfulness the next time they go out."
But there they go again,
Walking out on their way to the deli.
And again, I sit in my Dilbert, sensory-deprived cubicle
Contemplating reuters.com
And the headline that Charlton Heston has Alzheimer's disease.
How quickly they forget.

And at the party, people wave at me, yelling,
"Come on over for a group picture!"
I happily think, "Yes!"
Only to be told sorry, you're not wanted in this portrait.

So I take refuge again,
And I hear people talking about buying houses.
They say "All my friends live in the same neighborhood."
And I keep thinking like a skip on a record over and over in my mind
That my friends don't live in my neighborhood.
My friends don't live in my neighborhood.
My friends don't live in my neighborhood.

I sit here wallowing in shallow pools
Of tears and self-pity
Inside this bathroom stall.
I don't want anyone to see the tears
Streaming down my face like Niagra Falls.
I don't want anyone to see how I feel
Even though I want someone to ask
"Are you okay? You look a little down today."

How many of you felt like you had no choice
Like you had no choice
But to slit your wrists
When society backed you into a corner
When society backed you into a corner
With nowhere to turn to
With nowhere to turn to
I know I do...at times.

You know sometimes I think
The shelter I take refuge in could be my crypt,
Forever sheltering me from the pain I'm in.
As I curl fetal position in my porcelain coffin,
Safe and secure.

Then...outside my door...
Another voice speaks in semi-muffled bits of conversation
"Screw it. It's something you have to live with."

And a small part of me thinks "You know, she's right."
I'm torn, contradictions, depression,
Locking myself in this self-imposed cage,
This...this prison,
But I need to get out.
I want to get out.
I cant' always rely on the safety of this stall.
Because it's a crutch
It's a crutch for my crippled psyche.

I have to break out.
I have to break out.
At some point I have to say,
"Fuck off, you societal monkey!
Get off my back,
And take your fucking albatross with you!"

(8-22-2002)