April 8 : Inside My Head (And Out)

Unable to start something new

before I wipe out the old.

I can live in a dump

(inside my head

and out)

but I must clean up

before I can move.

I must empty every drawer

and sift through the piles

of debris that gathered 

over years of neglect

(inside my head 

and out).

I must wipe it clean

to let new dust settle.

I must throw some -

vehemently crumple it up

stuff it in the trashcan and

never ever let it out -

and pack away the rest

must put away precious memories

wrapped up in old cloth

in shoeboxes in bottom drawers

(inside my head

and out).

I leave behind 

some of it, and

recreate some as I look back

in the drawers (of life).

Build up new piles

of papers and rocks and

pencils and socks

and broken remnants of

computer parts and glasses

and notes that meant something

but are now illegible 

and bills and books

and keychains (and smiles

and tears and hugs and

music and feelings

and smells and sounds

and moments and days

and walks and despair

and perfect kisses and

phone calls and 3 am 

conversations into the 

heart of forever and memories

all memories.)

So precious - so painful.

Every day they hurt -
the loss of them, perhaps,

but every day they 

make me smile - and

yet I would live them 

the crumpled chits and

chocolate wrappers and

conversations and smiles

flower petals that meant 

something (perhaps everything)

when I slid them in this drawer

(in this pocket? in this life?).

I would live them all again

and I would be my crazy self

loving posterity 

and I would save them all,

I would pile them all up

if only to clean them out.