My dishes are overgrown.
On a night like this, you can see Selene suggesting her light upon my ambitions,
She extols me.
She uproots me like a weed.
She pays me a compliment: one that completely and utterly liberates me;
one that illuminates the night sky like she often does-
Even though I am not her keeper, I possess the moon. I possess overgrown dishes.
On an eve like this, you know St. Rita of Cascia is praying over my mind,
She unwinds me.
She soothes me like an ointment.
She saves me with words: words that completely and utterly validate me;
words that bring me closer to God as her prayer often does-
Even though I yet live, I manage old wounds. I manage overgrown dishes.
On a twilight like this, you should imagine Urd dwelling on the past,
She tortures me.
She condemns me like a witch.
She reminds me of my faults: faults that completely and utterly ruin me;
faults that would scar my psyche as the past often does-
My dishes are overgrown.
On a day like this, you may picture Ra visiting the sun upon my fair skin,
He warms me.
He fries me like an egg.
He bakes my planet: a planet I completely and utterly rely on to stand up;
a planet whose gravity weighs me down as it often does-
Be it Selene, be it St. Rita of Cascia, be it Urd, be it Ra,
These Deus ex Machina during chore time will always keep me from feeling
Overgrown.