get rid of it
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I don’t own my possessions.

They own me.

I think I’ll sell it all.

Grand collections of albums I never listen to

Just collect dust on shelves.

Books and comics stacked away;

Movies and games the same.

It’s strange.

stacks

How can having so much

Cause me such pain?

I never read or watch any of it.

Probably won’t ever again.

There’s no chance I’ll recoup

Every cent I spent.

No matter what,

It will be worth where it went.

Then on to my closet,

And what’s in my cabinets.

It’s as if

It’s all from other planets.

shirts

The barely used, unused, and brand news,

The won’t wear and can’t do’s,

Are all examples

Of my being confused.

I think I’ll sell everything,

Make something from nothing.

After all it’s just things,

None of which I’m loving.

dusty truck

I say goodbye to my attachments,

To material possessions.

Count my blessings,

And welcome the lessons.

Eventually I’ll have nothing,

Except a bank account that’s bustling,

A home that’s peaceful

And perfect for cuddling.

I’ll appear poor to my neighbors,

Like I have no rewards for my labors,

But what they won’t know

Is how much life I savor.

broke chains


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