Getting Unclogged

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.


Read any good books lately? Try mine!


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