The Tissue

I am perfect, clean, unblemished

Fresh and folded, ready-to-serve

I wait, with my brethren

Filled with purpose,

For the moment when I can

Take away your sins

Clean away your faults, take away your stains,

Make you clean again.

I am powerful in my purpose,

I can relieve you of germs, of dirt, of faults

I can fix your mistakes

But until then I wait,

With my like-minded friends,

Ready to fix your broken world.

The day comes, the light shines through the box,

I am plucked from the rabble

I’m excited, overcome, ready-to-serve

This is my moment, my purpose

I was made for just this reason,

And, though the pain is great, it must be done.

I am tugged upon, and crumpled,

My body twisted and torn

You blow into me, through me,

I don’t think I’m strong enough.

I am coated with your indiscretion,

Your sunflower-colored discharge.

I am finished, broken.

You ball me up and toss me away.

I am disposed of, out-of-mind.

I lay, stationary, used,

In the blue bin in the corner;

I have served my purpose.

I am picked up, moved,

Along with my broken brethren,

Tossed about, the journey is long.

I am poured in a container, drenched

Torn apart, broken down, purified

Pieced together, born again, placed back in the box.

I am perfect again, clean and unblemished.

I am ready-to-serve.