
Boxes
The boxes are piling up
on top of each other's
ideals
of whom I was
who I am
and whom I am evolving
not to become.
I love the smell of my home
on your folded chest
The love, the life, the death, the ability
of you, coming in terms
with the demons of your past
surpass an ego
of which we all fail to ignore.
I unlearn the doings of my past
and build lighter dreams
I can carry around in my bag.
Oct 02. 2020 // 02