I found myself. Once.
On my hands and knees.
Scrubbing the kitchen floor with a rag
I knew we wouldn’t use anymore.
Anxiety scrubbed that floor.
I didn’t feel prepared for.
Cleanliness is next to godliness.
This is a snippet(I may very much disdain that word) from a poem I’m still working on.
A more intimate look, I feel, at myself.
I can’t give up too much me but I like to share what I think.