It’s crazy what a little cleaning can do
Sweeping mine fields of your mind away
Eventually you find faith on the path
Steady losses BECOME explosions
count them as wins
Cascaded from marvelous, pristine places.
The church is spic and span
Its home is any many forms
Screens may seem more welcoming
Havens that can indeed be spotless
Reflecting your face off a surface,
Of social media timelines.
Any sign of disorder is relational to your mind
Can be tidied.
Like your life,
And your sick,
Cleaning makes me think of my mother.
I, an extension of her body,
Must be made clean
Scrubbed until the souls of others
Enlighten me to different perspectives.
O how I wish to be rinsed
Whatever is in me,
Yet family CANNOT
hear such animal screams
not without their permission
Permission to feel pain is important.
For pain is felt all over,
No need for comparisons