I lay on my bed atop a mountain of ashes,
ashes that have been born from a life once lived.
My house is neat,
With clean floors and a brand new kitchen,
With friends and dinner parties and weddings,
With smiles and laughter and respect,
But beneath the cream and silk,
Below the skin that shakes the hands and hugs my friends
Sits the remains of a lie.
This black, burnt ash stirs a collection of white feathery deceits,
Easy to dodge in conversation and block with my birthdays and straight A's.
Some told me to feel the burn that created those ruins, to embrace and express it,
But exhaustion takes its toll when change never comes,
My heart knotted with pain and hope for some kind of relief.
Yet, I find the relief that frees me now, is not that of change, but of forgiveness,
Letting go and spreading the ashes over the ocean,
Rather than sweeping them under the rug.
So let them collect and fester beneath the floor boards of my kitchen,
I'll only be waiting with the clean water that washes them away.