Author’s Note: I decided to try humor to branch out from my often-dark writing style after my mom pointed out I had a stain on my hoodie several times in the last week (which I forgot about immediately after every time she told me). I’m also considering using this next time I get an opportunity to do a slam. It might be fun to revise later on!

Stains

My life is a series of stains,
Perpetually parading through spilled smoothies and chocolate chips,
Raisin bread and hot, hot, hot grease;
I just friggin’ washed these jeans.
I always order water with a lemon and a straw filled to the brim
Because I will inevitably tilt it too far (forgetting the straw is even there)
Until everyone thinks I peed myself.
Baking is more of an adventure than a hobby –
How much dough can I get on my shirt sleeves?
How many times will I have to wipe brownie batter off my collar when I lick it off the spoon?
My hoodie’s elbows have been covered in sauce so often that they would better serve as pasta.
I already had to wash my favorite leggings three times this week.
Bleach knows me by name – more than once (well, much more than once), I’ve looked it in the eyes, and, sighing, saved my white clothes from turning an odd shade of green.
While I was doing a project in 10th grade,
I stained the brand-new carpet with black paint, and
That is how I got banned from bringing any sort of paint at any time for any reason into the living room.
I’ve squashed raisins and spilled protein shakes on my mom’s car seats (needless to say, she was not happy),
I left a disemboweled stinkbug underneath a textbook on my floor for at least a week until someone else finally got it out of there.
I will forever end up dumping things on myself and everything else – but, hey,
Stains do add character.

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