Dancing With The Devil You Know Poem by grace mariner

Today I have run out of space.
I can't hold on to another thing.
I am laden down with my own baggage,
so much so that there is room for no more.
Glass half empty, half full?
I'm really not sure.
Most of which clogs my brain and clutters my heart
is from regret that never moved on.
Or loss that stayed packed away in boxes.
I am forced to maneuver around them
as not to spoil anyone's good times by
angrily pushing it all from one space to another.
I stub my toe on the negativity.
Bruise my legs on the chaos.
Cursing as I suffocate under the weight,
but smile and work the room without any
revelation of it all.
Are there yard sales to sell such things?
Guilt for sale at rock bottom prices!
Pain available! Buy one, get one free!
Every loss includes some free hate!
Get it while it's hot!
I need to clear the halls and make a space
to breathe in again.
I think the fear is that I'll fill the emptiness
with something even worse.