emotion ‘dump’

One day, I think that what everyone needs is an emotion dumpster—where they can dump all their emotions of darker shade into.

Sadness.

Anger.

Hatred.

Irritation.

Lonesomeness.

Melancholy.

Indifference,

To chores.

To rules.

To people.

To money.

To fame.

To life.

To everything, anything.

Whatever cannot be understood by others besides the self. Whatever the instinct tells itself, that it must be kept secret. Kept to the self.

It will pass by, I’ve been telling myself, but what if there is a better way to endure? Just to keep on living, until the dirt naturally flows away?

Feelings, perhaps, need a dumpster too.

Don't try to validate. Don't even give a reason.

No psychologist, no self-help books, no reflective activity, no effort to make it a valuable experience.

Because there is no value.

Because trying to understand them—to make myself the jerk, the fool, the unadaptable idiot—is smudging the bruise off of these emotions, right into my stomach. Skin starting to smell rotty.

So instead, I just feel it. maybe for thirty seconds or less.

Then I tear, shred, crumple, burn, roast, all into grey ashes and thick goo.

All in the dumpster. No recycles.

Bye bye forever,

Forgotten in the midst of spring air and daydreams.

Only then, I can live again.