evolution

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