moving out, moving on

Start over, you
So easy to
When blame is laid
Like brick on brick;
Wash your hands,
Clean your skin,
Cause the scent of me
Is cemented in
And no matter the day you
Decide to taste, to
Know what happened,
What took place was
You grew up and out those
Clothes, while
I trudged on, my
Ego bruised; I
Wish, I
Wish, I wish I might
Have this dish of
Forward sight and
Not once or
Twice or fifteen times
Trust words once said
To make me smile.

Words burn like paper. I'm packing, cutting my losses of clothing, well worn shoes, and old love notes just the same. Well, maybe not just the same. My shoes don't go into the trash with such a fervent urgency. Its not that I don't want these things anymore; the boots I wore so long the suede is loved off the toes and heels; my favorite underwear so fondly known as my "sassy pants"; words written to me out of love, hate, and insecurities...

The funny thing is that I have kept letters I have never sent to people I have loved. And harder than any shoe or ratty t-shirt I own, those were the hardest to throw out, because they were such beautiful gifts that showed how much I loved those who otherwise don't believe it anymore. Not that it makes a difference after you calculate in pasts, but still. Those letters were proof by my own hand that I truly thought these wings could be mended.

Maybe I need to mend my own wings. I'm not superman. Hell, if I was a superhere id be the great jager bomb or something. I can't save people, and moreover- who was ever asking me to save them in the first place?

I would love to say the process was liberating. But all it did was make me sad that these men will never understand how great I once thought they were. Now, after years of separation, silence, and anger, who knows who they are?

Just a thought.

K.