The cycle

I’ve been laundered.

You used me, 

valued and cherished me.

But once a new

material comes long,

you throw me on the floor.  

You no longer needed me.

I'm not perfect.

I have stains

that need to be spun and rinsed out,

hit with a rock and 

vigorously scrubbed on a ridged surface.

Once I’ve worked my wrinkles out,

sorted and folded nicely,

I am still neglected.

I need to be washed on delicate.

I am being ripped up,

snagged and other colors fade into me.

And yet my fabric will only be used 

once you ran out of all your other clothes.