As I sit in the attic,
To organize my belongings.
As I sift through the static,
To uncover what has taught me.
I see the things that protected me.
I see the things that have formed me.
I hold pieces of history,
Both full of life and dusty.
I hold glasses that contained me.
I hold utensils that shaped me.
But I’m not who I used to be.
I’ve chosen to love the deepest parts of me.
To become my own authority,
To embrace individuality.
These glasses contain old ways of holding.
These utensils contain old ways of molding.
They no longer serve me as they once did,
And I gladly toss them away, a solitary goodbye.