Transition.

Life is a funny thing,

When we pack it up into boxes,

Little shards of ourselves,

Held in pieces of sentimental pruck,

Treasured memories but to others,

Its junk and too much baggage.

 

Sometimes we get the luxury,

Of paying others to carry our pasts,

Or we can shed it completely,

Let it all go like it was burned down.

 

Which parts of these jigsawed fragments,

Tells the best story of who I am?

The old playlist on an iPod I've not charged Years?

The collage of beach scenes on my vision board?

The three different toothbrushes but all of them are mine?

 

Moving is stressful,

Moving on is easier if we had decluttered first.

Life is chaotic car boot sale of boxes,

Garbage bags and perhaps brightly cautioned labels.

Caution: Fragile.

If only we were so easily identified,

I think there would be less weight,

If we moved through the world with better intention.

 

Bring nothing which does not serve,

The life you wish to live,

The future you want to build,

Instead of the past you have been carrying.