There’s dirt on my soul,
I can see it in the small, brown cracks of my irises.
I can feel it in my lungs like the clogged chimneys that once made this city run.
There’s dirt on my soul,
I turn on the rusty pipes that hide in this house to wash it away but it only stains and leaves smudges on my hands.
I watch the brown liquid swirl around my bare feet and slide down the drain.
Will it be enough?
There’s dirt on my soul,
I try to hide it with pearly fake smiles and pretty music printed on fresh white pages, but it lurks
I know it will be there when I close my eyes, but will you see it?
There’s dirt on my soul,
One day I’ll be too tired to scrub it away
Aren’t we all just dust anyway?
Poetry