Hello ***** underware that I refused to change.
Sixteen days is just a bit beyond your wearing range.
Poor overworn underware, How crusty you are! Wow!
You've stiffened up overnight. I ought to wash you now.
You look like that, maybe, you have seen some better days.
There's a long , brown streak down your back and in front a yellow place.
There's a grey deposit, where my two boys were at.
And something else, I know not what, between the brown and that.
The aroma that exudes from you is quite beyond belief.
It smalls far worse than a fetid corps, and came from me? Good grief!
So come now overworn underware. Into the wash you'll go.
I've added extra bleach so the stuff on you won't grow.
In the soapy water, the crust will disappear.
And out you'll come, white like new, with nothing else to fear.

In your little book of prayers you asked for something perfect.
A fairytale if you will, and though neither is probable,
fate and God put their hands together to work up a miracle,
leading you to a middle ground;

A gentle poet with an honest heart and subtle charm,
Just the way mother would like.
When he found you, you were already immersed into your novel,
But instinct urged you to lift your head up...
eyes met, a gaze was locked in place.
An earthquaking epiphany shook your insides,
Like a gear that had just been locked in its rightful place.
Color splashed in areas that were once gray.
You aren't much for love at first site,
However this was something deeper.

Like a cheap happy meal toy,
You were broken to begin with, vulnerable to affliction,
A heart overworn from lost love and regret,
You tug and pull at its frayed ends when you are bored,
Turning self mutilation into a unique form of art.
He noticed all of this.

He wished to know every detail that entailed your past,
hoping that someday when you're ready to let go,
He can take that pen in his hand
To rewrite it all out again
So that you may learn to forgive and forget.
Forgive and forget...
Forgive and forget...