I thought of the right words.
Sitting on a stool, ready
To take my laundry from out the dryer,
My vision accosted by a garish green counter, light goblin green, showing me
The nihilism of the poor.
I thought of love, come alive
On the mountaintops of my imagination.
She surrendered then, when I,
My better self, made the right moves
As though that were my fullest capacity,
My only way of being.
I think about the laundry, the dog that
I left in the backyard, the birthday
Party that I’m supposed to be at.
And I return back, to the now dry clothes, and give thanks to my privacy
For I wish to be here and to not be seen
Unless I were fresh like the laundry

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Malak Alrashed
3 months

Loved it! A daydreamer poem in every sense!

9 months

Alors! put on those fresh newly-laundered clothes and thereby feel refreshed, renewed and reinvigorated to face the world, unwelcoming though it may be. But as always advice sounds only good to the advice-giver.

I like the poem despite its inherent sadness.

Parker Jennings
Parker Jennings
7 months

Thank you Vic for that whole-heartedly well resounding greeting for me, it's always a pleasure to hear from you. And I certainly hope that the advice sounds good beyond the advice-giver, lest I prove myself the unaware fool this entire time, haha!

Many blessings to you Vic, thank you for the feedback

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