When you wake up in the morning, read a proverb. There are 31 Proverbs, one for each morning. After that, kneel next to your bed and thank the Lord for waking you up. The breath in your lungs belongs to the father, do not forget. Make your way to the kitchen and have breakfast. Say a silent prayer before you eat. Do not make a fuss, for your prayers are private and not to be made a public affair (Dear God, thank you for this day, thank you for everything. Bless this food to the nourishment of my body. In your name I pray, amen.)

I am washed by the water
I am washed by the praying
I am washed by the white man touching my shoulders in front of the congregation
I am washed by the ******* hymnal
I am washed by being the black poster child; the ****** project. (In gods name)
I am washed by the screaming in tongue
I am washed by the colors navy blue, grey, and black. (never red) For these are the colors of a ******
I am washed by submission to my father, my brothers, my leaders, any man really
I am washed by the hidden ****** box; hidden blood stained sheets; used pads wrapped in toilet paper and then an old toilet paper roll, and then a napkin and then a tissue box and then and then and then
I am washed by the slaps; good girls don’t talk back
Good girls don’t hit back
Good girls don’t fight back
Good girls don’t make eye contact
Good girls say yes sir
I am washed by the whispers of how boys and girls are supposed to play
I am washed by squeezing my eyes shut and praying (dear god ill never ever ever, if he stops putting his hands there)
I am washed by the laughter
I am washed by trying to “chill out” per his command when he’s done shoving his hot-fry covered fingers inside me
I am washed by trying to figure out what part of his forceful ******* felt good. Because he said it was supposed to and men are usually right.
I am washed by the nightmares of god casting my limp body to hell.
I am washed by screaming and begging and swearing Ill never look at another woman again.
I am washed by the fear
I am washed by the puffy white sleeves
I am washed by hiding my *******
I washed by binding my *******
I am washed by praying for my ******* to go away
I am washed by hunching my back so my ******* don’t show
I am washed by white Jesus hanging in my kitchen.
In my bathroom
In my hallway
Above my bed
Around my neck
I am washed by the phone call with my high school boyfriend after he dumped me
(please don't leave. I don’t think I'll ever find another boy I can marry.)
I am washed by the dead eyed kissing; staring into the woods behind his house while his hands searched my body for a crevice to explore.
I am washed by the self loathe
I am washed by death to self, for he is the way, the truth, and the light
I am washed by the darkness at the end of all my tunnels
Because my tunnels were clueless and empty and sinful
I am washed by the new found distance from everything I know
I am washed by the layer of dust on my now untouched collection of King James and NSVs.
I am washed by the calmness of independence and self acceptance
I am washed by her hand in the small of my back and the kiss of her cheek and her neck and her chest
I am washed by the preciousness  
I am washed by the mistakes and the hurt and the growth
I am washed by continuing and searching and yearning
I am washed by the blessings and earnings of a life that does not include any energies I do not want.
I am washed by my own power and my own god
I am washed
I was always washed
I was never unclean

Even when the rain falls
Even when the flood starts rising
Even when the storm comes
I am washed by the water

Till today I'm still sitting alone the place where we both sit at every evening.
Those hopes and wishes made up at one green evening and those hopes still alive in my heart.
       Even today's tempest can't washed off

The tree that we both planted at that very evening , reaches its full growth with full of red flowers.

       Visioning to those flowers
       Thinking that it was you
       Is it will be the content of my heart?

My heart that flies when i see your smile
But today no wing to fly as you have taken my wings with your pass.

The thirst of water can't be replace by any other liquid.

      Let all my sorrows, mournful events be all washed away by today's
      tempest.
      The dirt that remains at our body can be washed off
      But the color of past that colored in my heart can't be washed

Now the tempest has over but small drops are still falling.
When the Sun is about to set a series of unending question rise in my mine
Will the mysterious breeze be blowing again?
Will that powerful rain be return again?

When I was about to returned home an Unexpected wind blew out all the pages of my poem

All loss
All gone
All Washed?
All Washed ! All WASHED!

---------------------------------------------------------------­---------------
must read this:
I wrote this poem at a lonely ground where wind were straying around me with a dark clouds above me. When I complete my poem i stood up to head towards home at the very moment wind blew my all pages and washed off.....
             THE ABOVE PARAGRAPH is actually not the theme of the poem. Its only my vision related to my beloved Sir.
             In my poem I used the word "Tempest" giving the striking similarity with our presents youth and all who are all busy with their works so they got no enough time to read my poem moreover most are not interested in reading poem instead of it they think only about the business for the profit, So, I know their is no one who will interest in my poem. Therefore it is useless. So, I conclude the poem with such five words and too to the title, My WASHED poem.