The Day It Came Home

It’s funny to me how often I drag my bullshit around with me. I go day to day, stressed or not, and I am always dragging my junk, my clutter, by baggage from the past with me into the next moment. It affects more than I think; likely because I don’t think. I have been struggling for years with this. It comes with awareness of course. I am aware that I have this shit attached to my feet and instead of picking my feet up and squashing it, killing it, I pull fragments of it along with me so that when the moment is far from right, I flick a little bit from my toe and throw it into my right now. The worst is that it doesn’t always hit me; it usually hits someone close to me instead. What is my excuse? Why am I still making excuses? Because the trail behind me is thinning out, and I am accumulating more and more underfoot. So much so that I actually feel taller. So much so that I am muddying up everything I should be grateful for, everything I should be appreciating and everything I love. If I don’t start shaking some of it off, if I don’t start leaving it back there, I’ll be up to my waist in shit and really, who in their right mind can live that way? I, for one, am tired of it…

Dragon on the Ledge


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