A five letter word.
A word that can be used as glue to mend a broken promise.
That can make you think that a wrong has been righted,
because with just a single sorry everything is right back to how it was.
Forgetting that there ever was a cause,
entering a new phase like Dorothy in the wizard of oz.
So I would like to say my apologies to my bathroom,
because you see, when my mother told me it needed to be clean,
I would hide my face hoping that I could not be seen.
Because in my perspective, the bathroom was the peasant and I was the queen.
That I would always stare at the bathtub with a solid cringe,
then put on a mask with a smile when my mother walked past.
Probably thinking I wonder when this girl washed this bathroom last.
Because even when she asked, sometimes nice, sometimes not, but when she asked,
as if I was an actress in a play, I would pray for a different cast.
Because, in my perspective, the bathroom was an extra and I was the main cast.
That I saw myself too great to even give you a second glance.
As if you were an old friend that betrayed me, I never even gave you a second chance.
Because it felt like we were both battling each other, in a war, face to face,
in our separate stance.
That I didn’t even follow my own advice.
To not judge a book by its cover except you didn’t even have an option to have the cover.
Your stain and dirt stuck to you like how sin sticks to our flesh;
except God washed mine and I couldn’t even think to do the same.
And for that, I’ll take the responsibility and claim the blame.
That I couldn’t see how brave you really were.
The fact that you were once clean, but you took on all my dirt, secrets, and sin,
not bothering to ask me where I’ve been.
Or even how I dared to have so much.
But you were always there as I slowly stabbed you in the back,
while you sat there pretty as your soul slowly turned black.
That even as I held a hate directed at you, I never thought to look deep within.
Because like the Bible said, I can’t judge someone when there is a plank in my eye.
Instead of seeing you as just a bathtub, I should think of you as a regular guy.
A person who is just like me in many different ways.
But like Jesus, you basically die as you take on my wretchedness.
So I am truly… truly… sorry.
That this doesn’t mean that I want to get a soap and sponge Even if your name is Bob.
Sorry that I still do not want to look at my sin,
desperately wishing that someone else could do the job.
Sorry that your unjust demise is on me.
Sorry that I’m not as brave as you or want to ever be.
Or that I’m too lazy to clean while I’m on my knees.
That I continue to say I’m sorry when my name and yours form a sentence, gracefully dancing out my
mother’s charming lips.
Destiny Iyare, a junior, is studying nursing at Eastern University. She takes pride in her homeland, Nigeria, and in her family. She enjoys writing spoken word poetry because it is a way for her to work on her mental health. Through poetry, she is able to channel her emotions into something healthy and profound. She also enjoys watching Korean shows, editing videos, and hanging out with her friends.