Stretched

I've never wanted to relocate,

I've only ever wanted to leave.

The thought of unhooking every

weight threaded through my skin,

of evaluating who and what to discard,

is awful. 

But if I could evaporate

into mist,

and all ballast, relationships,

and expectations were to

simply tumble to the ground as

a pile, a shadow, a tombstone

to never be picked up again,

then maybe I could

breath more easily. 

I crave safety and

emotional autonomy

to the point that

non-existence

takes preference. 

But I am starting to believe

that I have the ability

to make these changes

without simply disappearing.

Maybe.

Possibly,

but it feels like a stretch.