Used up and sucked dry,
my inhibitions discarded along with my placenta.
Who is this shirtless woman, carelessly loading a washing machine,
no consideration for mismatched colors.
Fabrics in need of special care must now fend for themselves.
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Filed under Feels like Sunday, I am a Mother
Tagged as babies, breastfeeding, infant, kids, laundry, life, motherhood, poetry, prose
I am making a documentary in which I will be exploring suicide through the voices of those left behind. Please check out my other blog devoted to this project:
The Fell Clutch of Circumstance
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