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

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