Clean.
I roll the word around in my mind, examining it as I study my own body, pouring intention into the lather I've created with two dollar soap and contaminated water.
I shower in libations to the past, washed anew by my own convictions.
I dance in the redolence of hope; clarity and confidence permeating my skin in a way that Chanel No. 5 could never.
My hands follow a path that turns me on and reminds me that I. Am. Woman.
My shower tunes are the hymns of my ancestors, the lullabies my mother sang, the sound of cackling, uninhibited laughter.
I hum along.
I sing along.
I laugh along.
Stepping out, into the world, with my metaphorical crown in tact and my metaphysical contemplations well developed, I am ready.
I am clean.