steel plates warped
bend with the burden of
dust,
I keep washing
skin wrinkles
weeps
still I scrub
until the plate breaks
the silver scar
lined with blood.
I throw it away,
unwrap a new one
knowing that tomorrow
more dust will come.

I could write a metaphor about you in the dust,
Etch the perfect simile on my bonnet red with rust,
Scrub the pan until it shines but leave a food stained heart,
Do all the laundry and iron shirts so you're smart,
Arrange all the spice jars to your name in the aisle,
Vacuum the carpet with your initials and a smile,
Place a rhyming couplet as I put clean sheets on the bed,
But I'm an awful housewife so I'll write this poem instead.

I wash the clothes
and fold them too.
I take the dishes
and load them up.
I look at closets
and organize jackets.

I do the chores
mom usually does.
Parents thank me
and smile at my work.
To them I'm getting better
and working to be better.

Little do they know
that when I do housework
my live is spiraling more
and all I am doing
is making things easier
for when I am gone.

Straight and proud

Let me iron your mind
Let the creases
On your daily deeds' sleeves
Smooth down and vanish
The iron of my words will
Float upon the collar of your views
And the little pocket
Smothering your heart
Well, I may burn it
Accidentally - I'm not good
At ironing
But let me iron the back
So that you always stand
Straight and proud