suitcase charades

I am playing charades as a small little suitcase.

Back in that dark corner, top shelf, far out of reach.

That one you know you have tucked away but it just

collects the dust accumulated over the years

waiting to be towed along for a new adventure.

FATHER drags it out first.

And he’s taking it through hell.

This roundtrip?

Trophies lie between those buckles.

Those are the ones that I got, all on my…

Father’s behalf because the only reason

I lay in the overhead bin instead of being shoved

in the cabin below is due to my ability to make him

seem like a predecessor whose successor

is a brightly burning fire mirroring after his own.

What no one knows is that his flames are fueled by

the sharp tongue he possesses and coarse hands that are

volatile and uncontrolled…he extinguishes MY flame

without a flinch at the slight burn of his fingertips

just because my fire no longer reflects his.

But MOMMA…God.

Momma needs to go on vacation.

She boards flight seven, no.

Wait, flight seventy-seven.

She takes the small little suitcase in tow beside her;

tucks it underneath her arm because she refuses to let it go.

It’s suffocating. My clasps bunch together threatening

to crack wide open but she simply holds on tighter.

TSA tells her she can’t take the small little suitcase

with her. Some things aren’t meant to follow along

and instead of letting go, she stays; holds herself back.

And the tensions run high as I threaten to crack.

Yet she always seems to contain my journeys

to staying right by her side and those are the only

trips I have anymore. And for once, I wish to be

lost among the all other bags within that cabin below.

At least then, I could venture out on my own.

Now, FRIENDS are supposed to be forever.

Yet they seem to be the most destructive.

Last minute cancelled flights, forgotten baggage claims.

Throw down in a fit of anger, I am dragged along for

the one purpose only they knew they had in mind for me.

It starts in a place of bliss: Suitcase checked in

and smooth, early departures. Yet it quickly turns

into late night arrivals and constant turbulence.

5-star ratings with comfortable seats transforms

into torn cushions and cramped spaces because

friends don’t stay forever – at least not quality ones.

FIRST LOVES tend to be unforgettable

but I wish mine was because we find

ourselves holding each other back.

We refuse to talk about all the impromptu flights and

you pretend like you don’t like to slip me out every once

in a while because you want another trip down memory lane.

You think they’re too good to be true so you only escape

Running, with me, and I simply let myself be used by you.

Because you’re the only one holding me together at the seams

and every time you shove me back away, out of sight

You are always bound to come back running for nostalgia.

So, there are all these skeletons in our closets,

simply collecting dust until someone finds their way in,

jostling about in the dark; full to the brim with the bones

of our dead thoughts as we play charades as

a small little suitcase, pretending

everything is okay.