Crying

How it feels to cry.

The safety of the locked 

bathroom door

and the tap turned on

a melodrama unfolds itself

and the mirror crumples,

shudders in disgust,

and the towel 

rubs raw against my face

but the pain 

cannot wake me from this private indulgence

wishing still 

for my mother to open the door

and find

the fear and shame and hatred

that shrivels

and washes into the sink

with lavender soap

and the salmon tears of the dinner 

the night the news struck

and I slink away from myself

and hope 

that is all I have left

Author's Note

I need advice on how to punctuate poems properly.

Reviews

[Writergurl]

and I slink away from myself
and hope
that is all I have left

love the closing of this, it looks fine the way it is.