One thing I learned about cleaning was to make sure that when you do clean, you gotta go full-on extra when you do it. You can just dust the ceiling if you're not going to clean the floor and change your sheets afterwards, like, that would be a crime when you're part of the asthmatics club, created by God, led by me... Probably me.
You can't clean without maintaining the cleanliness afterwards, only to fall back into your mess a few weeks later. You can't be fully clean if you still have those useless paper stacks somewhere, you gotta throw them out. You can't clean without getting tired of it, because when you're lazy to clean, it means that you're enjoying the mess, and you're not exerting as much energy compared to being clean.
Being clean? Hell yeah, one week of standing hella strong; Not that I've thrown out the rest of the glitter down the toilet, but I've been fairly good at avoiding the holy grail. My local drug dealer, we'll call him Jason for the sake of his own safety against the police, hasn't called since the last time I saw him. Not that I'm expecting him to call, or if he's wondering why I haven't dropped by for my weekly dose of temporary suicide pills, but maybe it's because he knows. I have always been the type of person who says that I want to kill myself, but only because I want the pain to stop. I don't want to die, I just want the feeling of freedom back. I want to breathe again and smell the bacon and eggs in the morning while my father is trying to make his coffee, my brother lazily putting the plates down on the dining table, as my mother lightly scolds him with the fact that he hadn't washed his hands. I want to inhale the warmth of the Saturday sun as my skin starts to feel sticky while I let my legs get tired from biking all damn day. I want to exhale and feel better after chugging an entire bottle of cold water from the kitchen fridge. I want that back. I want to be clean.
The droplets of cold water from the shower tickled my skin, sending shivers down my spine as the dirt from cleaning up my room for the entire day was finally washing off my system. As someone with really bad asthma, I was surprised to realize that I didn't even have a single coughing fit throughout the day. Maybe I'm changing, maybe I'm getting better, or maybe I'm wrong.
I opened my eyes to see the storm coming, and I cried whilst trying to wash my sins away.
– "Clean", November 7
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Seventeen
شِعرLetters about the highs and lows of my seventeenth year of life. [EXPLICIT CONTENT, possibly. Please read this at your own risk. If you are struggling with your own personal stuff, please do not hesitate to seek out for help. My dms are always open...
