There are things I want to say to you
I peel them off me
Fold them into books
Put them underneath furniture to stop them from wobbling
How many hours have I spent hidden under rugs
Dripping peppermint oil over my fingertips
Hoping that would bring closure
The smell burns cool down my throat
And I wonder if this is what resolution feels like
Every day I trim away parts of myself
I never know peace until I am throwing away
The superfluous
My rubbish bin is overflowing
With history, with smells and old clothes and memories that
no longer fit
I continue to shrink
Some days I believe that if I become smaller
I will have more control
I once talked to a friend about the lightness of being
Removing boats, cities, worlds
Until there was nothing but lightness
So I continue to let go
Measuring my intake in shot glasses
Forbidden to take more than what will fit through a straw
Closing my world until I can control it with bits of string
Tied to parts of my room
Back to my fingers where I can pull
What I want closer, another string to move things away
I walk through aisles of empty glass bottles
I whisper “protect me from what I want”
As my hands reach out for everything
“You want too much” I say
As if this condemnation of my hungry soul is enough
To stop me from burning my fingers
On flaming skin
You want too much
Your skin is blistered and seared
Your world has gotten too small
Since when did you forget about being large enough to hold
the universe?
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