I grew up in such a dysfunctional household that as I child I actually believed that when I was out of someone’s sight, I disappeared for them. What a horrid mindset for a little girl to live with! I was thinking about that the other day, and I wrote this poem.
Getting Unclogged
There is a stoppage.
An obstruction. An impediment.
With increased pressure it all comes out.
Unpalatable gunk. Hair. Grease.
Unidentifiable muck.
Do you think of me when I’m not there?
Do I still exist for you? For myself?
Do I matter?
Do you care?
Why don’t I know?
Years later,
It dawns on me,
Maybe I’m not the one with the clog.
Now, I can recommend a good plumber.
All you have to do is ask.
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