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I hate doing the dishes; there’s no point in lying.
They stack up in mountains without me even trying!
A shirt covered in soapy suds,
Missing out on time with my husband or my best buds,
Scalding water and constant scrubbing makes me feel like crying!
~~~
The sink is full of endless piles of filth and scum.
Should a neighbor come by, they would think I’m a disgusting bum!
We tried a rotation to switch things up,
But then my husband accidentally broke my favorite ceramic cup,
So, I handle it, despite my feeling numb.
~~~
Gr, who put a knife in the soapy water?
Don’t they know it cut my hand open without falter?
Oh, why do I even bother,
Trying to control things like a mother?
This isn’t even my home anymore, I feel like a damn squatter!
~~~
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This poem is inspired by my family's collective hatred for doing the dishes.
About the Creator
Rain Dayze
Aspiring writer with a passion for spice, pets, and coffee. I've published through here before under a different name, but it's still me! I've got an alternative site for content: https://www.inkitt.com/angela5347
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