Leaving

The smell of all, old and new; known and yet to be known.

The spider web behind the bed; bits of chowchow spilled under the shelf. The torn carpet. The reminiscence.

I’ll take all the memories not the proof. I’ll be the same but maybe a little different.

I’ll giggle at the yellow stained walls because I’ll know the who painted what. I’ll not jerk the door; maybe the hinges will be fine.

Get a new key so it won’t be stuck. Get a new lock so I won’t be stuck.

The thought of leaving is death scary. The thought of embracing is tantalizing.

New rusty doors; color tainted windows; fresh cracked walls and white patched ceilings; all will be new.

It’s though provoking and dyslexic at the same time. Paradoxical yet obvious.

My ship wont shed tears in waves of memories. My ship wont be scarred; the anchors are loose.

The walls of my being will be painted with fresh white stickers.

Covering all that was; to give room, for all that will be.

The walls of my fore coming is now yet black. Empty. Uncharred and virgin.

I’ll paint it with colors of emotions; black and white, red and blue.

I’ll break it all up and down, inside and out.

I’ll fill it all; across and through.

I’ll embrace it; from within and beyond.

Because I want to hurt myself.

Because I‘ll leave it all.

Because poems bleed when hearts break.