I am not your basket of chores

a poem about love and neglectPhoto by Hugo B on Unsplash

How dare you pick me up
just to throw me away?
A weightless pile of fibers
clinging to your skin
hoping for static
to reconnect matter

between us.

You wear me whole
My threads conceal your flesh
more fragile than silkworms feeding
on mulberry leaves
my blanket covers you
raw on your throne

Extract the material from my bones.

You fold me up
once or twice a week
wash me of my filthy needs
iron my complacency
smooth out my pleats
make me feel complete

Live in me as you sleep.

Leave me be. My pockets fill nicely
with rocks, dirt, some loose change
Moths have come bearing my name
Snow will have come and gone again
while I lay where you last left me
Another curiosity turned bore

Why does pleasure transform to chore?

Promises crack at winter’s door
your skin trembles, purplish-blue
my textile breaks from icy dew
Take me off; throw me on the floor
forget to pick me up once more
the cold proves to be too much

My kingdom for your warm touch.

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I am not your basket of chores was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.