All the small things

All the small things

That you say and do

Stack up in piles of well-intentioned rubbish,

Littering the place with half-finished plans and to-do lists

Which will never get done.

There isn’t a tick list big enough

To tackle all the problems

Which you place neatly at my door,

Each one a shiny, imperfect bauble reflecting the light.

Instead, that light is negated, smothered,

Under and behind and within

The psychological recycling you need to address,

Which you never will address,

Nevertheless,

I am still here, your emotional baggage handler,

Your personal refuse collector,

And I provide service with a smile

You never return.

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