Changing Rooms

The lights were white and blinding.

The tiles had the same pattern,

going on for miles.

The smell of sweat and Lynx was pungent.

A changing room with thirty people, give or take.

I was in a stall, vulnerable, hidden.

A shirt stripped from my skin and replaced with another.

The sounds of zippers from the outside, along with my own going up.

When I was finished, I had to leave.

Pushing through sweaty bodies to get out was no easy task.

A few ‘sorrys’ here,

‘excuse mes’ there.

The door in my view, but so far away.

Two teenage boys had got in my way.

They teased and grabbed at what was left.

A hand placed on my waist,

One around my neck.

The final one going behind,

Firm.

A mocking desire hid in their eyes.

After a few minutes of enduring

What is deemed as “nature,”

I had finally gotten out.

It’s been four years since I’ve been in the changing rooms.