Washing Machine

Is it normal to feel like life is shit?

Like the fortunes told, by see-ers old are off, just by a little bit?

Time ticks on,

Things don't get done,

Joy happens - sure,

And memories; more and more and more.

Good and bad,

Happy and sad.

Turbulence throws me up and down,

Like a badly designed washing machine,

Pushing me round and round and round.

Warm water and soap is soaking into my soul,

Filling in my pores, trying so hard to make me whole.

And when the cycle is over,

The water turns cold,

And still sodden, logged, drenched,

It's time for me to go.

Hung out upon the line,

Exposed to wind,

Begging for shine.

Blessed by gentle hands,

Cursed by rough pegs,

That pinch my shoulders, cheeks, arms,

waist, thighs, legs.

Is it normal to imagine that life could be alright?

That for some, the pegs don't hurt so bad,

The threat of rain doesn't feel so sad.

That one dose of fabric softener,

Is enough to feel safe,

That the drawer is not a dark, fearful, chasm,

Bit a warm, inviting place?

I'm not normal.

I don't feel normal.

I know that life is shit.

And I'm trying to find that tiny little bit,

Of love, inspiration and curiosity.

That gives us kindness and hope and generosity.

If you are out there, somewhere,

I'm looking for you.

Please come and find me.