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stopdoopy Aug 2018
Wishy Washy.

Tumbling,

Between high and low,

Hot and cold.

Am I delicate like the load of whites? do I need to refresh my color with a strong drink- bleach?

Or am I tough and resistant like denim? toss me in for an hour, shove soap down my throat, and I'll come out like new?

Maybe I'm a mixed load, balancing between the two; teeter-tottering from feeling to feeling.
The day I wrote this I had dreamt of someone who used to be very dear to me who I am having to forget, to better myself. She hurt me bad and I'd been having the same dream of us repairing our relationship for a few months now, and I've felt like a washing machine with my guts twisting and pulling with my emotions going from one end of the spectrum to the next; low in morning, high in the middle of the day, unknown at night. I've had amazing friends, Trixie, Luigi, Houk, Rin, Cait-Cait, and many others who've helped me through these past months who I can't thank enough for their continued support. Whenever I have these dreams and feel this way it feels like a step backwards and I end up feeling guilty for no reason just because I have them, and so I'm hoping that by writing this out it's a step in the right direction. Feeling like this is normal after you've spent some great times with someone you've cared about- weather it's months or years, it hurts and it's okay. I know time will heal these wounds eventually, so for now here's a Band-Aid.

Dedicated to everyone who's been hurt and felt this way or similar, and to my amazing friends;  I hope we all find what we need and can better ourselves, and be happy.
OC Aug 2018
Back and forth, a charming wobble
On a rugged rag she hops
Chasing traces of burst bubbles
Left by little soapy drops

Lightly pruned palms gently pressed
Hid behind a fresh new towel
In a formal evening dress
Like a royal clumsy fowl

A relentless Déjà vu
Is refusing to clear up
Like a lipstick smudge that drew
On the lip of a tea cup

Nearly done, a dreamy gaze
Smiling as she turns about
For her beauty I do praise
We chose to stay and not dine out
An old favorite.
Ki Marie Mar 2018
Sometimes I get in the shower
just to wash my hair
because maybe if I scrub hard enough
I can reach my brain
and clean it of all the thoughts
of you
Crandall Branch Nov 2017
You slipped through my fingers just like a bar of pure white soap
Every time I looked at you my mind was scrubbed clean
And all my negative thoughts were washed away
Down the drain of your love

The bubbles you made flew me up to heaven
While you stayed down on Earth
And I just want you to be free too
Won't you come and join me?
please leave feedback and comments below! :)
Randall Walker Sep 2017
You’ve heard what I’ve sung,
You’ve read what I wrote,
But can that get
To the heart of all my hopes?
 
So I run away, I smoke;
Getting by
With desperate gropes.
And I groan,
                   and I moan,
                                      but ****, just cut the ropes!
And these chains, that maim,
They’re gone, just like smoke,
My skin no longer cut up
                            Like dandruff
Think soap.
july hearne Aug 2017
there's a drink called sweet burgundy
and then another drink called hennesy,
a ****** fine congac

as she sat down
with a glass of hennessy
waiting to die
and typed out her last livejournal entry

where she counted out the pills for us
and told us the names and colors of all three

names and colors i can't remember now
ryan Apr 2017
When doubts and fears are like an ocean,
I clamor to the sand -
A billion tiny grains of  deafaning voices.
I use them as soap and bleach
Against my skin to wash away the waves
Which crash against my soul.
I dig the sand with dirtied palms as far as I can go,
Deeper into the liars pit
Until I reach what lies underneath, of
Which I find regret.
So I lock my fingers into a cage and press
Into the regret, and choke it
At the bottom of the pit I dug myself,
But like spit through teeth
It shoots on through my grasp defiant and proud,
Where it buries me in its place.
Aaron Bee Mar 2017
elders carry stories
of themselves foaming
at the mouth
like rabid dogs

like the language they spoke
was *****.

Nuns with sharp rulers,
sharply ruled the catholic schools

No choice, but to
submit and Americanize
with cheeseburgers and denim

lonely tears for home
   missing the
  gentle breeze of pine and juniper trees

while forgotten brothers and sisters hang with
touchy pastors whose love for Christ
told them to be quiet.
inspired by the generation before me
Rachel Dyer Feb 2017
Our love is soap.
Our love is clean clothes on the dryer by the radiator.
Our love is coffee and cream with a spoonful of hope.
Our love is a gammon roast and a baked tater.
Our love is clean dishes and foamy dish rags.
Our love is fighting for the water in a tiny shower.
Our love is our journeys to the grocery store with all our reused plastic bags.
Our love is watching you play video games hour after hour.
Our love is lemon flavored body wash getting in my eyes.
Our love is being too stubborn to quit.
Our love is the thought of me leaving making me unable to cope.
Our love is getting up and sorting it.
Our love is soap.
All my memories of you smell like the soap we use.
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