shampoo bottles.
you clean yourself from the days you’ve soaked in the stars
and pollutants
more chemically fond of you than natural contamination found in your footsteps.
don’t forget to reach
behind the ears,
you know dirt creeps into the deepest yet tender places
that only protrude at your expense.
empty shampoo bottles don’t sit around in the premises of abandonment,
waiting for you to return.
instead they bottle up their own form of independence and self care,
when they’re too hallow to
take care of you.
another day turns into a week,
maybe two,
since these moments like to come and go.
aware of how deliberate the beauty of life likes to unfold
leaning back in for another handful of shampoo
and raising the handle a little more to the left
taking comfort in a duo that welcomes a sweet creature.
lathering yourself to the point of overkill.
unbothered by the idea that
cleanliness is only trying to help,
not to hurt,
when withdrawal starts to affect the both of you.
strategic ways of coping have been sitting in between your toes,
surfaces too unbearable to reach,
but you think
they’re just a part of me, so why deny them?
despite poor judgement calls.
and while you’re there,
responding to an old friend,
commemorate how empty shampoo bottles are just as destructive as you.
but their purpose is also just as valuable.
and they found that in you.
