Coming Clean

Abandoned washing machine on a New York City sidewalk.

What do people mean, 

When they finally come clean?

And wash their bed sheets into flags of surrender,

While laundering their souls in a hot air blender?

Life is a whirlwind measured by an invisible clock, 

Mocked by the injustices of that fucking lost sock.

Detergents are chemicals pretending to be clean,

When we’re all hiding dirt while acting pristine.

Yes human fallacy is our shared soiled sin,

A stain we secretly wash out again and again.

So launder your soul of its guilt and remorse,

Because the muck is part of life’s wayward course. 

Damn your delicates and screw the permanent press,

And, for god’s sake, don’t let others decide how you dress.

But rest assured that we all know what you mean,

We you experience the reality of coming clean. 

Because you are the mess of your own self-esteem,

And you’re also the hope that powers the machine.

[More NYC Trash Stories: Bedroom, ClothesCultureFurnitureFood/DrinksPersonalPetsTechTrash CansTravel.]