the stains on my clothing

are me.

this is quite simple.

the smudge of lipgloss

on the waistband of my joggers,

from a dismissive wipe of a hand,

waiting.

the splotch of tomato soup

on the collar of my shirt,

from a decadent midnight meal,

sitting.

the globs of cat hair

all around my ankles of my jeans,

from a night at a loose-friends,

lingering.

the brushings of ash

on the tops of my shoes,

from nights of loneliness,

remaining.

all are temporary,

ready to be washed off.

all are a permanent part of me.