I peel off the parts that don't fit anymore
And carry them.
I might want them back some time:
maybe when the winds blow
I will want my leaden feet
to hold me in place, no cause to roam.
Maybe if the smoke alarm sounds
I will welcome the way I cover my face
and stop breathing until I'm home again.
Maybe I may even reclaim the way I shake my head
when I fail to understand, no sense of any of it.
But not now.
Now, lighter serves me better.
My skin's exposed,
I could be scorched.
But much better to be peeled from the outside
Than from within.