It's not mine.

Mother's airing the laundry,

but she's not mine, and it's not mine.

Hanging a sheet by stiff pegs,

as it protests in the wind

that felt so warm yesterday. 

*

It is clean, and white 

But i know it's lying, because once you know

You can see where he lay his head,

All the specks of red,

Marks of breakfast in the bed.

*

You can sneer at this imposter,

But i will wash it again and again,

because i can't just find a new one,

I can't pretend this ones not mine,

When I have to wear it round me like a shawl. 

*

I'd snatch it down, from it's display 

If it wasn't trapped between teeth.

I'd shout at the audience,

to look away

If i wasn't pretending it wasn't mine. 

*

Am I the child who ruined

the walls with felt tip?

No longer

As the ink is spilt

Does this mean...

*

I'm grown,

I'm used, 

I'm lost,

I'm dead,

I'm his? 

The End

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