conveyor belt

a poem

standing in front
of a baggage carousel.
thinking.
thinking.
always thinking.

the hum of its steady spin
grates like my thoughts,
looping back, never landing.
rubber flaps slap rhythmically,
a metronomic taunt.

i want to slice through
my scalp,
peel back the layers,
feel the cool air on raw nerves,
and grab
my brain.

i want to place it on the conveyor belt,
watch it disappear
into the tunnel,
and send it somewhere else.
anywhere else.

maybe my heart too—
i’ve heard it holds onto things
a little too tightly.
would it thud against the metal,
a dull, wet sound,
or slip away quietly?

but i’ll settle for
my thoughts,
let them circle the underbelly 
of the airport 
like lost baggage
that never makes it home.

taking them out of me,
and letting them go.

not caring
how bruised they get
along the way.

hoping
they’ll be broken enough
to never come back.

that they'll dissipate
into the stale, recycled air.

maybe.

i'll feel free.
or light.

maybe.

but at least i've let them go.

my fingertips tingling
with the phantom sensation of
release.

PS- Hi friends, I’m fine. Truly. Just experiencing all of life. And writing through it. I found myself wanting to put my obsessive thoughts on a plane. I liked the vision of standing back with relief, watching them fly far far away…but then I thought about the hell of baggage claim. ✈️ 🧳

And if you made it this far, click that itty-bitty digital organ! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️