I dismantled my dreams,
boxed them, stacked
my closet shelves.
They grow dusty beside
shoes and short skirts
I don’t wear as often
as I thought I would.
For years these dreams waited,
only to be unwrapped upon occasion
tried on, just to see if they still fit.
But they are not for the keeping.
I am done.
Come to that cold
melancholy realization
that I will never have
the guts to remove the tags.
Instead, I rewrap them,
bestow them, make peace
as I give them to you
one by one.
I don’t give them
as a curse, although
I can attest to the lack
of joy they have brought
time after time. I hope
they will do more for you
than they ever did for me.
I hope they will fit
and you can twirl merrily
to each new step.
These things:
dreams, hopes, love,
the intangible
aspects of myself I wanted
so badly to create,
to keep and harvest.
They are not meant to be.
I know that now.
I release them to another,
no regrets, no goodbyes.