Cleaning out the closet


I’ve been cleaning out my closet lately,

Pulling out past loves that I promised to take to the dump, but their voices covered up the sound of the garbage truck and I forgot.

I’ve been taking all my skeletons out and polishing them, 

Hanging them on walls above tv’s so people have no choice but to be proud of my downfalls.

I still remember the day I myself came out of the closet,

Bones rattling, teeth trembling, and legs shut tight as if men were in my vicinity.

See my father was always a clean freak, one speck of dust could drive him to the brink of insanity.

But the day I stepped out of that double locked closet he looked at me like I was another mans daughter.

He looked at me like I was a speck of dust, and I could see the logs in his eyes ignite.

The day I came out of the closet,

He picked up his broom and told me today was the day I would clean out my closet.

He didn’t hold me in that dustpan like he held me through my 15 years of life, no.

He held me like I was the last piece of dirt left on the hardwood floor of our kitchen,

Held me like he wanted to let me go so fucking badly.

See, today I was cleaning out my closet,

And I found a couple of things I put in there just so they couldn’t be tainted.

I found my innocence, my strength, and my perseverance.

I asked my mother why they didn’t work anymore,

And she told me that when i hide things for so long, they tend not to work after a while.

I was cleaning out my closet today,

I do it everyday,

And I still haven’t found my father.


 

 

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