A few years ago I loved a woman so helplessly
That I probably still do.
I’ve never known a woman with such a hard life,
But she tried to make the most of it
So the bugs wouldn’t crawl
Under her skin again.

Her first daughter was eight
And would talk to people
We couldn’t see.
She was awkward but intelligent
And would read science books for fun.
In her early years she’d cry in the cold
Held by her mother
Who held a cardboard sign
That asked for money.
Her second daughter was four
And was the most lovable child
Despite her manic energy
And endless tantrums.
She had a rosey smile
That wanted to love everyone
And be loved by everyone
And I imagine she will be betrayed
Quite a lot in her life.

Because of these two,
And because of herself,
Her small apartment was always *****.
Dishes piling out of the sink onto the counter,
Toys, dolls, markers, drawings, books, blankets, crumbs
All over the place surrounded by at least a hundred articles of clothing
On any given day.
Small flies would gather around the center of the room
And fly in a tight circle.
Everyday she would be cleaning
And it never looked much different.
Most of the time I spent with her
Was spent cleaning up the apartment.
The rest of the time was spent in bed.
Those were some of the best times of my life.

She was the most critical person
I have ever met
But never believed she was asking for much.
She expected people to always treat each other well
And would go broken hearted mad when they inevitably didn’t.

She felt the same way about me
As I did about myself at the time:
She loved me completely
But couldn’t appreciate any of it
For very long
Because it didn’t make sense
Why I’d destroyed myself.

I don’t know how’s she’s doing now,
But I’m sure she’s still fighting
The good fight
And losing horribly.

The saints spend everyday cleaning.
It never looks much different,
But they spend everyday cleaning.