Poem book: Discord

Tar

When I was little I liked to play in the tar
The fresh, black goop that patched the roads
Squishing the goop between my fingers
as small, black rocks cling to stay on

But one day I got tired
Tired of cleaning the brown, clinging residue on my tiny fingers
Having to repeat and repeat the order: water, soap, scrub, rinse
Also the goop would get everywhere on my clothes

Destroying them, it had no remorse
So I finally stopped playing in the tar
The tar now lonely with not many to fully appreciate it
Sitting there many moons till it hardens

Many times cars drive on it never thanking it once
for covering the dips and holes that could destroy their tires
I walk by the tar as it tries to draw me in
bringing back the memories we shared

As many times I tell it no, it brings me closer
Years passing, and I get older
I'm not a little girl anymore, but it stays persistent
The day came were I gave in and we played again, together

The residue now covering my clothes and fingers, like it did
Looking in the mirror before cleansing myself
I ask, Why am I so disgusting?
Why can't I stop?