i'd throw them away in the trash that smelled like burger juice and bright orange paprika sauce.
i'd take the scratched plates and stack them next to the sink,
the hot waters vapor would slither up and hug my face, often times creating a diverse mix between sweat and oil.
i somehow knew that this wold be a routine i'd face.
and now i am currently sifting through the people in my life,
discard or keep.
keep, acknowledge, wish you hadn't then weep.