Sanity and Certain Sanitation

An extended metaphor that calls me to view my own motions.

Sanity and Certain Sanitation

 

Somewhere between loving and hating, ham or turkey, lips or eyes... 

I snatched myself out of the washing machine!

 

I never dreamed my world could be spinning, so rapidly.

So damp, so wrinkled, and still be life.

 

My car is my fabric softener.

 

Now people watch me closely, because I left the shoes that told me lies at home.

I fall and try to fall again just to lay on my back and look at the sky.

 

It  turns.

Red! Orange! Yellow! Blue! Green!

But the experience is tainted when you share it with Johnny.

Or Tequila.

Up all night like kids at a sleep over.

Trading lies and gossip.

 

Walking home haphazardly.

Miles seem like days with a gray face.

Anticipating comfort after parlaying with risk.

Only my bed relates.

 

Alcohol is my color safe bleach.

 

Imperfect it is.

 

This lady's echo red leaks into my socks, and I see her previous pain...

On my skin like a mist.

Looking for a door.

 

I do not want her clothes, her colors, her thoughts, her bothers.

I want to be empathetic but I just hate that little electric shock.

 

You know when you pull two dry T-shirts apart?

 

Instant gratification is my stain defense.

 

I spot clean with handshakes and simple apologies.

 

Somewhere between here and there, left and right, daydreaming...

I beat myself up in front of conformity.

I wiped the sweat and tears off my leather marble bag filled with pixie dust.

I played with one of the old G.I. Joe figures with all the moving joints.

I was a kid and  did not care when people looked at me funny.

I had no bias of myself.

 

I got dirty.