imagine a bathroom trashcan

No Fandom ¦ Other ¦ M ¦ NAW ¦ for mckeemckool, Jennycakes27 ¦ 208 words ¦ 2026-05-22 ¦ Personal Poetry

Privilege

The imagination, like many other things, is a muscle.

Imagine a bathroom trashcan.

(Say, plastic, metal, lined, unlined, squeaky, squeakless, smelly, sterile.)

Imagine opening a bathroom trashcan.

Imagine opening a bathroom trashcan because you need to SH (shave head).

Imagine finding in a bathroom trashcan two plastic water bottles, empty.

Imagine that those two plastic water bottles, empty, are in pristine condition. You don't have to imagine it; it's true.

Imagine learning three weeks ago that your spoiled best friend washes her face in your hovel of a house and in her hotel of a house alike with bottled water. This water, bought in cases weekly, from the grocery store. This water, which she will not drink from at night, because she has a separate plastic bottle for that.

Imagine realizing that she believes herself so dainty behind a door that doesn't fully close that she cannot even bring herself to collapse two plastic water bottles, empty, so that they may better fit inside a bathroom trashcan and leave room for blood and napkins, the way it's supposed to be.

Imagine feeling capable to mutilate yourself when she cannot even mutilate a water bottle.

Imagine being so dainty that you cannot fit yourself into a bathroom trashcan.

Imagine a bathroom trashcan being too small to hold you.