baggage (at a loss)

so life. this journey.

in the beginning.

you look at the world. and the world, well intentioned and vicious, looks at you. on a walking tour, you take pictures of the world, stuff your luggage with souvenirs–shrapnel, torn flesh, and bricks wrapped in fear insecurity bias misconception.

wisdom, you say.

when one bag is stretched to the limits of fullness and the blood of flesh oozes from the sides, you add another bag to the set and fill it to the limits of blood oozing.

and another.

over years.

carrying bags wherever you go.

when life repeats itself, you start packing the bags with experience reasons excuses why nots. only when the handle breaks on the heaviest bag do you feel the depth of your weariness. feel the ache of burden on your face.

collapsed on the ground, you rummage through the broken handled bag. see the garbage. grieve your mistake. leave the bag behind as you walk on, a little lighter.

soon, one by one, all the bags become suspect, until finally, dropping bags along the way, your hands are empty.

you look behind but the last bag is not in sight. there is no going back.

alone, with empty hands, you realize those bags carried all the things you thought you were.

without them, your name has lost the meaning you gave it.

and regained the potential it always had.

in the beginning.

© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2013