Introvert's Struggles

Dear Pile of Dirty Dishes,

I walk around you for days avoiding the touch,

ignoring the smell. Sometimes I fear, I’ll be forced

to wash you, scrap the dried bits of waste. It’ll take

me hours and hours, leaving my hands scratched

and blistered. I’ll put you on the rack, let you dry

and then clean you back into the cabinet. I will go back

to my room and sleep till the next evening, exhausted.

I know that if I wash you, I’ll come downstairs the next day

and you’ll be back waiting for me. Laughing at me,

mocking me, and when your owner appears in the doorway,

I won’t complain about you,

I won’t say a word,

I’ll just politely ask

'You alright?'

and, raging, disappear in my room.