I hide in the laundry room
my family thinks I’m washing,
I trip on old Doc Martin boots
and dream of 80’s moshing.
I shift my junk from pile to pile
to clear a tiny section,
Some old lady’s watching me.
Nope. That's my reflection.
I hide in the laundry room
my family thinks I’m drying,
Wet laundry sat, it’s musty now,
or is a rodent dying?
I poke through the candy drawer
stuff snickers in my pocket,
scratch my arse and wonder why
our bulbs don’t fit our sockets.
I hide in the laundry room
my family thinks I’m folding,
When I hear your footsteps near
I find some clothes for holding.
I sort and roll a sea of coins
print labels with bad words,
I make a sticker workout chart
then change to tally turds.
I hide in the laundry room,
my family thinks I’m mending,
I wish that I could stay for years
but see my secret ending.
I’d really like to wash some clothes
but cannot reach the dials,
One day I’ll need the ironing board
but it’s behind the piles.
Help yourself to shoe goo,
take some thrift store glitter glue
Your clothes won’t fit you anyway
‘cause while I hid you grew.
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❤️❤️…merry Christmas Tamara!
Merry Christmas! Thank you thank you for coming to visit me here Lara:) So appreciated.
Fantastic writing. Have not logged in for awhile, nice surprise to see this piece of art. To me you captured the feeling of how we all have times of hiding (I think we need them), that retrospectively scare us as the perception of time is it is finite. Love your courage. The last verse through I was going back and forth. Reading it first from the storyteller talking to someone else and then talking to them self. In my mind I changed the the last line to (so I could be at peace and stop thinking or hiding 🙂 ) ’cause while I hid we both grew.
Thank you
I love ‘while I hid we both grew’. Thanks for that! And thank you for reading and taking the time to ponder and comment. It fuels me.