Clean

Am I still clean?

I take dust 

off of my hair,

pluck the hair from my limbs,

wash the limbs

under ice cold water to tighten my pores-

Am I 

messy?

I am tuned to my 

alarm clock in the morning,

drawn to the smell of 

glass cleaner I cleared my mirror with-

Am I not 

pristine?

I scrub my face

the moment I wake,

throw my dirty shirts across the room,

empty the coffee stains off of

every white mug I own-

Am I too 

addicted?

I assure myself

that I am spotless

and bright

when in reality

I own bags under my eyes

and hanging from my hands,

Rocks on my back

and splinters in my shoes-

Am I not immaculate enough 

for your praise?

I wonder 

as I wake and sleep in drowning circles-

why are my bones not

polished enough inside-

You won’t have to see them,

but you want them to be

visible under my skin-

Why

Why am I blemished 

and bruised-

Am I still acceptable 

for your love?