I wish there was a dustbin
for all these thoughts,
the clutter of feelings piled high,
like newspapers, no one reads anymore,
stacked in the crossroads of my mind.
They stick to me,
these thoughts,
like gum on the soles of my shoes,
worn and unwanted,
but impossible to scrape off.
I drag them with me,
through days that blur into each other,
each step is a reminder
that I can’t shake off
what I no longer want to carry.
If there was a place
to throw them all in
the sleepless nights,
the half-hearted apologies,
the fears that never happened
but still haunt me.
I’d fill it,
until it overflowed.
But thoughts don’t disappear.
They tarry,
like the smell of something
burnt in the kitchen,
stubborn, even after
you’ve opened all the windows.
So I wish for a dustbin,
big enough for the echoes,
the what-ifs,
the could-have-beens,
where I can dump it all
and finally,
finally
hear silence.
©umclite
U