THE SUITCASE

© 2002, Wanda L. Harrell

The large suitcase before me is old, tattered and torn.

It's filled to overflowing—its edges are clearly worn,

And carefully packed within it are uniquely personal contents,

Some of which are logical—some no longer make sense.

But, all are the things of life that have weighed me down,

Unnecessary baggage I have continued to carry around.

Within are rigid bonds that imprisoned my spirit from being free;

Emotional scars from angry words aimed toward me;

Immeasurable tears that have streamed from my eyes;

A smiling facemask frequently worn as a disguise;

Tarnished love for one I thought I couldn't live without;

Insecurities about who I am—layer upon layer of self-doubt;

Disappointments formed when goals were not met;

Myriad bits of bitterness my heart had somehow kept;

Lies that I told, and untruths that were told about me;

Once beautiful dreams never realized that are now unsightly;

Loneliness, and a heart that has many times been broken;

Kind, loving thoughts I had, but left them unspoken;

Anger and other things that are hideously ugly;

Biases and intolerances, long ago taught to me;

Resentment that I secretly concealed deep down inside;

A collection of regrets, shame, frustration and selfish pride;

Pangs of needless guilt placed there for things I did not do,

O' so many things that prevented my heart from being pure and true .

The time has now come to lock it all up and throw away the key,

And put that suitcase in a place where I can no longer see

All that I, in my human foolishness, was not willing to release,

The baggage restraining me from finding precious inner peace.