I have this feeling
that even if human beings
came with a tag of instructions
on how to care for one another
sewn on some conspicuous part of our person,
most of us would just ignore it.

We all just
machine wash jerkface,
tumble dry to broken pieces.
Tumble dry into
thousands
of little
broken
pieces.

And you can see it, you know?
On us.
Where someone didn't read
those directions carefully
or at all.
Where the colors ran—
reds to whites to pinks.
Where the holes are worn bare,
and the fibers shriveled and shrank.

So we live with those stains,
those noticeable imperfections.
We’re so conscious of it at first,
afraid that everyone will notice
that our instructions weren't followed.
We hesitate to let
someone else try their hand
at doing it right
this next time around.

But we gotta, 'cause
much like ***** laundry,
human yearning is
a ruthless, never-ending cycle.
Fighting it only really makes you
the smelly kid in class.

Just mind your delicates,
pay attention, take your time,
and hand wash that **** worth keeping.