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.

Fear to let go of the memories, fear of forgetting, 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 my unfamilar 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.

My hands gently and gratefully open as I release all the things, that kept me stuck, back into the admition of my human condition.

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