All The Things

Why did I keep all those things for so many years?

I dragged them around from accommodations to rehabs to storage lockers like dead weights to my ankles.

The fear of letting go of all the memories, the fear of forgetting and not being ready to be free.

Guilt of the presents that were unappreciated, shame of the accused ungratefulness.

Fear of what they would think if I lived my dreams of simplicity and fear of my unfamiliar greatness.

The fear of all the feelings in my heart and soul looking back into the eyes of my childhood photos.

Dreading the sadness of year books and the wishing I could save the teenagers in the memories from complete self-destruction.

Those things were my ball and chain, all those things were “my work cut out for me.”

As they float on, so do the painful thoughts of yesterday year and I live on lighter.

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