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My Water Bottle

There are flakes of black stuck to my palm
remnants of the bottle’s cheap paint
clinging to the rich warmth of my veins

It isn’t a surprise to find my water bottle in such a state
simply another thing of mine that’s far past its prime

Folders broken at the spine and
laces long soiled in muck
Hole ridden socks
and well-worn sweaters
A price for the stability I’ve struck
and reminders of what I must still weather

I brush my hand on my thigh
firmly as to rid the flakes from the ridges of my skin
As one would the guts of a fly 
and as thoroughly as dispelling the guilt of sin

I know the flakes remain on me
But my sweatpants are black, so
I can retain my dignity to a certain degree

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Beata Agustin Date: 4/20/2024 3:54:00 AM Thanks for sharing this... exposing your thoughts through your unique poetic style. Meanwhile, I greet you with the love of the Lord, expressed by John 3:16 of the Bible, "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Be blessed. Login to Reply