When you become an adult
You should
Get rid of childish things
Giving it a proper
Placing it
Where dead bones
Should be
In a grave
Six feet deep
But instead those items
Are kept
Like souvenirs
Picked up
Over the years
Packed up in boxes
To the ceiling
Never getting thrown out
Causing you
To be an extreme hoarder
Why do you
Think your life
Does not matter
So much
You need such baggage
You’re giving
Over your free will
And all your power
To people
Who don’t matter
You give them so
Much control
To dictate
Your every move
When you have a big responsibility
To live your life
As it should be
Without any direction
From those dictators
You act
As if
You are their puppet
Telling you what to do
How to do it
When to do it
Why are you
So willing to give up
So easily
Laying down
Without a fight
Letting people
Kick dirt on you
Where is your courage
To fight
You have made significant successes
In your life
However small
They are full of positivity
Laughter and happiness
Yet you are not willing
To see
Simple beauty
In its purest form
Because it’s not
What you wish it to be
You want it bigger
Like someone else’s
No one has it better
Than the other
We all carry
Those skeletons in our closet
Holding on to them
Like a favorite blanket
We would carry around
As a child
For safety
But in order to make progress
We have to be
An individual
Of tremendous power
Being someone to be reckoned with
Going to a place
Of destiny


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