Poetry- Exile by Choice

I took a ride in the tumble dryer at the Laundromat down the block
The dying fluorescent lights alternating in their illumination looked beautiful
1000 rotations per minute at the hottest setting
The spinning stops hands reach into my steel cylindrical world
Shake me out fold me up
Nice neat little square of expectations hopes dreams
Stay in the lines no wrinkles
They folded me wrong though, one sleeve folded forwards
Implying so much more than a little square of folded cloth should
Implying that maybe there was a life outside the lines
Slowly but surely the pressure of what might be forced wrinkles onto my smooth canvas
No longer a neat square, now something unrecognizable to the rest of the vanilla drawer
Everyday they inched me closer to exile
The dirty laundry hamper
Punishment for looking beyond what I was told to see
Seduced by the pull of what lies outside the lines
Send me back for a second baptism of washer and dryer
Maybe I’ll come out right this time
But maybe, wrinkled with one sleeve folded forward is how I’m supposed to be
Never meant for the top drawer
A lifelong aficionado of the dirty laundry hamper
An exile by choice