I keep thinking
That as the world tumbles around me
In the washing machine that is my life
Begging for change
Repeatedly in order to continue
This vicious cycle of masochism,
The load of burdens
Stained by hopeless romanticism.
I used to wait
To run into your open arms.
I’m so tired of
Stretched out scoop necks
And fading jeans.
I’m putting coins into something
That does not guarantee satisfaction.
I do not know
If the thumping of my load will
Lull me like a lullaby
Or cause me to cringe at the sight of
My problems in circulation.
Like my life is a constant (downhill) spiral.
I keep praying
That your arms will be there to hold me up.
Blasts of water.
Blaring of machine when all is said and done.
Shirts look like brand new
Merchandise picked off a shelf
And not out of basket meant to hold up
The load which you have taken upon yourself.
Fabric softener lightening what was once
Ragged and destroyed
I need to remember
That your arms also unlocked and were the ones that let me go.