Saturday, July 2, 2011


there's blinding pressure
in those unpacked boxes
of broken and unbroken toys
that define memories
of what was
and what should have been

the pictures are warped
even those i have yet to hang
the books are mouldy
even those i have yet to read

and the to-do list just keeps on growing
while boxes and boxes of who i used to think i was
pile up by the door, to be thrown out and recycled
and i let go
of shades of who i think i'll be

No comments:

Post a Comment