Minimalism

Just as the consumerism

That dirties our minds

So too are the excess sounds

That we hoard

Their hatred

Judgement

Criticism

Why must I gather

Like flowers picked and given

Some casted in mud

As though to house the decay inside

Why must I swoon

Over syllables spoken

From voices

That don’t appear to console

Nurture

And lift

Minimalism

A reminder

To hold what’s meaningful

To let go of what doesn’t serve us

The 4th spatula that flakes its feed

The 5th towel that wipes to rash

The 6th pair that contorts my walk

I try to take your words

To fill the vacancy of

An empty

Riddled shack

Never seen

By its intended owner

But your words

Trash this place

Instead of fragrant flowers

Clean vibrant rugs

Laid over dark grained wood

And blankets strewn over arms

Near the warmth of stone framed flames

Instead of warmth and love

And the nurturance these walls were meant to house

Your words leave fumes

Floors mushed

And couches ripped and stained

Your words

Like rotten fruit

Attract flies to infest

A sacred place that I left open

For you

But today I shut the door

I will clean

With a Marie flair

I will stand

And drop your words

At the imprint of my knees

I will turn this face

Red and swollen

Towards light and love

To detoxify your glares

I will shine these tears

Like crystal droplets

Holding them with tender fingers

To lighten their fall

And until I’m done

This home no longer welcomes you