If only soap could wash away all of the stains…the ones deep inside…the ones you can’t see but you can feel. And when you compare the stains on your clothes to the stains on your heart, suddenly, you realize that maybe the laundry isn’t the most important thing you could be doing today. I’m not against hygiene…I’m just sayin’. Why can’t they make heart soap? I would buy that. Everyone would buy that. Why? Because other people throw dirt on your heart far more often than they throw dirt on your clothes.
cleanse me,
of my sins,
regrets,
my past.
cleanse me,
with your holy soap,
clear my hands,
make me a man again.
Tayler Moore
Soap on a rope—It wasn’t my favorite Christmas gift. However, it always reminded me that the thought is what counts. So what was the thought? Was it that I was somehow soiled and needed better hygiene?
I hate the taste of soap. I once said the “f” word when I was about five years old, and my mother washed my mouth out with soap. I can still taste the bitter, sharpness of the soap and feel myself gagging as I tried not to swallow the hideous stuff.
Fulton
Soap is for dirty people. Every time I see a dirty looking person, I always want to give them a bar to wash themselves down. One day, there was a guy that looked really rough. So, I gave him a bar. Then he proceeded to take the bar and place it on my head. What I had was a dirty mind.
Tinea
Soap on a rope is the first thing that comes to mind. What inventors will concoct to be the first at something… Sort of like writers do to be the first to say something that hasn’t been said. But is there really anything?
bubbles gonna be floating all over and rays of light through them are magical.
mehdi
White bubbles with oil rainbow surfaces. Cleaning away our grime and our fears. Is that so? Is fear a thing that can just be washed away? Can insecurities be disinfected? What is a soap for the soul. A chance for us to start again with a fresh feeling of clarity.
Eric Herlihy
Just need one. But I don’t use those. Body wash. That’s where it’s at. So sudsy. Not slippy. Put it on my loofah, can’t do that with a bar as easily. I need some of this after the bar last night.
her mother had told her that some things were considered life essentials, no matter how rich or how poor a person, no matter their faith or their politics or their education. soap, she said, with a flourish, was one of these unsung treasures. and the selling of it was a booming business. Melise and her mother, alone for near a decade now since her father had gone to war and not returned, kept themselves afloat and comfortable by producing (at impressive rates) tiny bars of soap: colorful, scented, cut into shapes like seashells and flowers, engraved with names. Soap with tiny bright beads inside them, soap that could be molded and shaped like clay, soap that could soothe minor aches and calm the mind. the two of them were industrious and self-sufficient. Melise and her mother needed no one, until the day Melise came home to find a body facedown in a pool of lye. Melise did not need to turn the body over to recognize her mother.
When we used to shower together, our bodies in its natural state, it was the happiest moment of my life. There were no shenanigans…just two people getting clean. You would grab my cucumber soap and lather yourself. When we got out, and we were dried, and I would sit in your v-neck that went down to my thighs and you would sit in your Calvin Klein underwear. We would lay on the couch, facing the huge window. The feeling of being twenty-four stories up was enthrilling. We would watch the Chicago traffic below, people who were heartbroken or who were in love like us…I would lay my head in the nook of your neck, smelling the scent of cucumber soap on your skin.
Chris
This I did yesterday. Still the last object I used. Homemade. Lathers like a charm. Imperfectly shaped, lumpy at the corners. Still four more bars to go. Will last a while.
I step out of the bath every mornig, into the mirror’s eye, and I’m clean, I’m clean of the tiny molecules of dust and dead skin that shroud me, but every morning I remember that soap doesn’t wash away scars. My head is thick, my eyes are bright, and I’m sighing in a way that I haven’t quite figured out the meaning of, happy or sad… and the scars, it’s clear they aren’t going anywhere.
Running down that chiseled body,
Soap in hand.
The scent drifting over to where I lay on the bed.
I could lay here forever.
Just breathing you in.
I shall not drift back off to sleep as you get ready for work.
I need this.
I need you.
And your scent of soap, wafting over to my safe Haven.
Nicola
Soap.
That scent that I crave.
I find myself daydreaming about that scent.
Oh, your soap.
It’s helped me cope with you being gone.
Can you keep a secret?
I use it when I miss you.
Nicola
soap you wash your hands with and it make things clean. you can use it for almost any
on the tv and in my bathroom
made of fat or fruit or oil
bubbling boiling brewing spoiling
scented like a new day
dries you up but wets you down
in every home in every time
clean your act
clean your language
clean your face
Soap.
The word soap means a cleansing agent, you all know that. Ironically, it also means money offered as bribe! Needless to say, it also refers to the tv serials that are just too “clean” in the thoughts and actions that they telecast.
Arunima Datta
The present was a bar of soap. “Um…thanks,” I murmured. I wasn’t really thankful at all, though. It was just a bar of soap shaped like a frog…what was so special about that?
Isis
Soapy, bubbles! Getting clean. Stingy eyes… Water! Ouch! DON’T drop it! Or drop it… whatever… Nice smells! Feeling fresh! Squeaky clean! Dove? What! Ramble ramble….
Cassie-drew
Soap makes the stink palpable (sometimes)
Harold. way
the soap fell as she was lathering herself. self-consciously, she picked it up, knowing her new boyfriend was in the bathroom brushing his teeth and most definitely watching her through the clear shower curtain. she blushed. but, she enjoyed giving him a show.
l
And the usual coating of grime washed off my soul like the residue of cheap soap from my bathtub; just like momma said, “all it takes is a little elbow grease.” Now the sliding feeling, much like the slipping of soap from my wet palm, accosts me and leaves me ubtundent.
AlexP
Soap tastes bad. I remember eating it when I was four in the bathtub. It tasted bitter. I remember when I used to take baths when I was a kid and my grandma would sing to me in her chair from the open door. She’d sing “Singing in the bathtub, Whoohoo!” I don’t know where she got that from.
Lana
Smooth and slippery, suds washed over her as water poured down to rinse them off. She always felt so wonderful after taking a bath, standing in the stream, feeling the current rub against her and take away all of the grime while it cleaned the soapweed from her as well.
Soap makes people clean, unfortunately not everybody has access to soap which is just depressing. Of course I’m referring to people in developing countries who might not need soap as a priority, but would still be kind of nice to have. Any kind of soap will suffice.
Alex
Soap makes a wonderful gift, perhaps, sudsy and bubbly and maybe rough and full of sand…wait, no, unless the recipient is super manly and likes it rough. Slippery and multi-colored and smelling of spring and fruit and promise. Yes. Soap makes a good gift.
If only soap could wash away all of the stains…the ones deep inside…the ones you can’t see but you can feel. And when you compare the stains on your clothes to the stains on your heart, suddenly, you realize that maybe the laundry isn’t the most important thing you could be doing today. I’m not against hygiene…I’m just sayin’. Why can’t they make heart soap? I would buy that. Everyone would buy that. Why? Because other people throw dirt on your heart far more often than they throw dirt on your clothes.
cleanse me,
of my sins,
regrets,
my past.
cleanse me,
with your holy soap,
clear my hands,
make me a man again.
Soap on a rope—It wasn’t my favorite Christmas gift. However, it always reminded me that the thought is what counts. So what was the thought? Was it that I was somehow soiled and needed better hygiene?
I hate the taste of soap. I once said the “f” word when I was about five years old, and my mother washed my mouth out with soap. I can still taste the bitter, sharpness of the soap and feel myself gagging as I tried not to swallow the hideous stuff.
Soap is for dirty people. Every time I see a dirty looking person, I always want to give them a bar to wash themselves down. One day, there was a guy that looked really rough. So, I gave him a bar. Then he proceeded to take the bar and place it on my head. What I had was a dirty mind.
Soap on a rope is the first thing that comes to mind. What inventors will concoct to be the first at something… Sort of like writers do to be the first to say something that hasn’t been said. But is there really anything?
bubbles gonna be floating all over and rays of light through them are magical.
White bubbles with oil rainbow surfaces. Cleaning away our grime and our fears. Is that so? Is fear a thing that can just be washed away? Can insecurities be disinfected? What is a soap for the soul. A chance for us to start again with a fresh feeling of clarity.
Just need one. But I don’t use those. Body wash. That’s where it’s at. So sudsy. Not slippy. Put it on my loofah, can’t do that with a bar as easily. I need some of this after the bar last night.
her mother had told her that some things were considered life essentials, no matter how rich or how poor a person, no matter their faith or their politics or their education. soap, she said, with a flourish, was one of these unsung treasures. and the selling of it was a booming business. Melise and her mother, alone for near a decade now since her father had gone to war and not returned, kept themselves afloat and comfortable by producing (at impressive rates) tiny bars of soap: colorful, scented, cut into shapes like seashells and flowers, engraved with names. Soap with tiny bright beads inside them, soap that could be molded and shaped like clay, soap that could soothe minor aches and calm the mind. the two of them were industrious and self-sufficient. Melise and her mother needed no one, until the day Melise came home to find a body facedown in a pool of lye. Melise did not need to turn the body over to recognize her mother.
SOAPSOAPSOAPSOAPSOAPSOAPSOAPSOAPSOAPSOAP
… soap.
When we used to shower together, our bodies in its natural state, it was the happiest moment of my life. There were no shenanigans…just two people getting clean. You would grab my cucumber soap and lather yourself. When we got out, and we were dried, and I would sit in your v-neck that went down to my thighs and you would sit in your Calvin Klein underwear. We would lay on the couch, facing the huge window. The feeling of being twenty-four stories up was enthrilling. We would watch the Chicago traffic below, people who were heartbroken or who were in love like us…I would lay my head in the nook of your neck, smelling the scent of cucumber soap on your skin.
This I did yesterday. Still the last object I used. Homemade. Lathers like a charm. Imperfectly shaped, lumpy at the corners. Still four more bars to go. Will last a while.
the slippery soap slipped from her supple hands and splashed into the sink.
I step out of the bath every mornig, into the mirror’s eye, and I’m clean, I’m clean of the tiny molecules of dust and dead skin that shroud me, but every morning I remember that soap doesn’t wash away scars. My head is thick, my eyes are bright, and I’m sighing in a way that I haven’t quite figured out the meaning of, happy or sad… and the scars, it’s clear they aren’t going anywhere.
Soap,
Bubbling on my butt
I should mention I’m in a bubble bath.
Not just obsessed with soap bubbles.
Although, while we’re on the topic…
soap is great soap is fun. wash your hands with soap.
lathering and releasing drips of bubbles
Running down that chiseled body,
Soap in hand.
The scent drifting over to where I lay on the bed.
I could lay here forever.
Just breathing you in.
I shall not drift back off to sleep as you get ready for work.
I need this.
I need you.
And your scent of soap, wafting over to my safe Haven.
Soap.
That scent that I crave.
I find myself daydreaming about that scent.
Oh, your soap.
It’s helped me cope with you being gone.
Can you keep a secret?
I use it when I miss you.
soap you wash your hands with and it make things clean. you can use it for almost any
soap you wash your hands with and it make things clean. soa
on the tv and in my bathroom
made of fat or fruit or oil
bubbling boiling brewing spoiling
scented like a new day
dries you up but wets you down
in every home in every time
clean your act
clean your language
clean your face
Soap.
The word soap means a cleansing agent, you all know that. Ironically, it also means money offered as bribe! Needless to say, it also refers to the tv serials that are just too “clean” in the thoughts and actions that they telecast.
The present was a bar of soap. “Um…thanks,” I murmured. I wasn’t really thankful at all, though. It was just a bar of soap shaped like a frog…what was so special about that?
Soapy, bubbles! Getting clean. Stingy eyes… Water! Ouch! DON’T drop it! Or drop it… whatever… Nice smells! Feeling fresh! Squeaky clean! Dove? What! Ramble ramble….
Soap makes the stink palpable (sometimes)
the soap fell as she was lathering herself. self-consciously, she picked it up, knowing her new boyfriend was in the bathroom brushing his teeth and most definitely watching her through the clear shower curtain. she blushed. but, she enjoyed giving him a show.
And the usual coating of grime washed off my soul like the residue of cheap soap from my bathtub; just like momma said, “all it takes is a little elbow grease.” Now the sliding feeling, much like the slipping of soap from my wet palm, accosts me and leaves me ubtundent.
Soap tastes bad. I remember eating it when I was four in the bathtub. It tasted bitter. I remember when I used to take baths when I was a kid and my grandma would sing to me in her chair from the open door. She’d sing “Singing in the bathtub, Whoohoo!” I don’t know where she got that from.
Smooth and slippery, suds washed over her as water poured down to rinse them off. She always felt so wonderful after taking a bath, standing in the stream, feeling the current rub against her and take away all of the grime while it cleaned the soapweed from her as well.
Soap makes people clean, unfortunately not everybody has access to soap which is just depressing. Of course I’m referring to people in developing countries who might not need soap as a priority, but would still be kind of nice to have. Any kind of soap will suffice.
Soap makes a wonderful gift, perhaps, sudsy and bubbly and maybe rough and full of sand…wait, no, unless the recipient is super manly and likes it rough. Slippery and multi-colored and smelling of spring and fruit and promise. Yes. Soap makes a good gift.