laundry
Learn more about other poetry terms
If only life was as easy to handle as a pile of laundry.
It builds up and up, but a quick load or two will shrink it back down.
And then all that is left is the warm smell of lavender soap and an empty basket.
Crispy-wet cotton sheets blowing
Like sails
Under an idyllic sky
She’s wrapped in her bedding
barefoot on a concrete pad
I ask them to take a poem
And read it
Like they were the author,
Or subject, for that matter.
I say drop a lemon-scented pod into a poem
And watch it dissolve,
Hand wash these
Separate
With like colors
Cold
Hot
No additives
Only non-chlorine bleach
Do not dry clean
Dry clean with a petroleum based reagent
Tumble dry
Line dry
Dry flat
I.
when the boy drawn to priesthood kissed me, his mouth burned.
with triple-layer onion skin and a crucifix tongue, he tumbled
down from a cloud at 9 and snapped his legs in half.
It's not what they call you,
but what you answer to.
Never let someone else's words
define you.
No one is "normal"
No one is "perfect"
But as long you love yourself
you'll always be worth it.
Turning and spinning
Round and round
We go
Losing sight of
What we love
Most
The water rushes
Past us
Over us
Under us
Suddenly we are
Life is tumbling, spinning, whirling out of control
like my thoughts are a tornado spun by someone else’s hands
and it is put on display so others can replay
the awesome tragedy for their own awful pleasure
There's a monster in my closet.
I feed it everyday.
I know exactly what caused it,
And now it's here to stay.
