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.
