• I have a novel in my sheets. In each crinkle is a sentence I’ve cried out in my sleep.
    You have a novel in yours too. You may not know the story but I know a few.
    One of a girl who gave herself away every night and every day she felt inadequate.
    Doesn’t matter the thread count because who’s counting?
    Those heavey sighs and moans stay in those sheets like the stains you can never quite remove.
    But there is something else you also cannot remove and that is a piece of you.
    You lost a piece of yourself again to your sheets.
    I know they’re there to catch your tears, and they’re there when you can’t face your fears, but how many pieces of you have they collected in the years?
    I’m not judging you, I’m educating you.
    Because if you knew what I knew, you’d know those sheets are not where you go when you want to feel special.
    You go to the cross, your one and only boss and you say daddy I just can’t take it anymore.
    I feel filthy, I feel dirty, I feel like a whore.
    Wash me clean and make me white like snow so that I don’t need my sheets anymore.

    Copywrite to Brooke Mckenzie (me) on wordpress.com.