Alone / With You, Daughter

―i have a terrible roommate. i pass them in the staircase, sometimes. catch a glimpse. sometimes we eat dinner together, catch them in the bathroom while they awkwardly close the door on my face. i hear them on the phone if i close my eyes. new york rooms are tiny and cramped. they're starting the new semester soon, i know.
          i have a terrible roommate. they leave a mess in the bathroom. they don't clean up after themselves; my roommate will brush their teeth in the morning and leave the toothpaste open, they will stay up through the night, and i will be kept away, listening to the tinny sound of music played too loud through headphones. my roommate finishes the milk and doesn't get back new bottle. my roommate will let them laundry rot in their room, forget to wash their sheets, forget everything.
           my roommate will forgo food, sometimes. less than when they forgo sleep, which is often. my roommates got the ugliest smile i've ever seen and a great nose. my roommate is pale and doesn't leave their room enough. i'll try, sometimes, to do something nice for them, but they just take. my roommate has great hair that they're growing out. my roommate has cargo pants that have gotten a little loose ― my roommate ate a sandwich, a plum, and a cup of coffee yesterday. my roommate has glasses in a permanent state of unclean. my roommate is a liar.
          i pass my roommate in the staircase and i don't wave. i get sick of them too easy. they try to smile at me & i just sneer. i hate my roommate.