I'm getting myself together
Folding my thoughts up neatly
Sorting through them
As I decide how to place them in my soul bag
I pull on my dignity
Grab the honesty before I forget it on my cluttered desk
Then head for the door
Taking once last glance back,
Anger glares at me through the slits of the closet's double doors
Depression cries out from the dishwasher
Continuing to glance around,
I almost failed to notice the piggy bank on my side table,
I take up a hammer in my hand and crack it open
Hope flies out in a fury
But I calm her, speaking quietly and gently,
telling her that it's time to leave this haunted home
Tucking her into the pocket of my faded, worn spirit,
She rests peacefully.
I grab my soul bag of thoughts,
sorted neatly,
walk through the door,
and then never looked back.
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