If they're soft, they usually have two sides.
Both sides, so smooth and delicate, easy
To rip apart and expose the inner roughness.
It's fun to tilt my head back and gently lay
One of the halves on my lips and blow
Firm enough to get them soaring
High on endorphins and snatch
Them out of the air, crumple,
And toss into the trash with the rest.
If they're rough, they're good
For one use only. They may be irritating,
But they get the job done. It's cheap,
They come in bulk, and always
Fail to clean up the streaky mess
Left behind for my hand
to finish.
If you're lucky, they'll have aloe
And lotion and designer brands
Made for those who are hard
To please. You'll be spoiled
By the silky smooth shine
On your face, but not one
Can keep up with the wear
And tear of being used
Over and over and over.
Once they're damaged, they're done.
I can't use them anymore. They know
the tricks. They know how they've been torn
apart and crumpled and disposed without thought.
The smaller the pieces, the harder they are to manipulate
and bend to my every will. With one gone, what does it matter?
There's still the rest of the box, or the pack, or the cylinder.
Fifty. Maybe a hundred. All the more to my disposal.
Yes, yes. I know what they think of me.
Bitch. Whore. Slut. Throw all
That filth in my face.
It's just another
tissue used.
