Trash, waste, dirt and bin.

The first time I took out the bin 
I let out a soothing sigh.
It was like thousands of poking needles 
were pulled out of my flesh all at once.
I tried to cry but bled then I healed.

The first time I took out the trash 
I realised that saying his name would change.
I never really could trust something about him -
it was the way he walked.
The way he puffed out his chest,
Like a peacock with his eyes 
searching for approval. 
The way his laugh echoed in a crowded room.
The way he constantly needed to be fed.
Attention, food, and my body.

The first time I took out the trash, 
I could lick the floor I walked on.
I took every step with uncertainty.
I did not know where I was going 
but I knew where I wanted to be.

I knew what I wanted.
I knew how I should be treated.
I retreated from every empty promises.
I walked away from conversations that failed to nourish my soul.

The first time I took out the waste I felt free.
I climbed to the top of the landfill and looked around me.
I saw parts of me that I had discarded
While scrounging for some soul.