Brenda, the baggage lady

I am a broken human.

If I had to describe my baggage, it would be a middle aged woman named Brenda,  riding in one of those airport trolleys holding a megaphone and screaming at passerby’s to just go ahead and toss all their bags on too.

And no matter how bad it hurts, I keep holding on to baggage that isn’t mine.
And my brain keeps telling my heart to just fucking drop the bags!
Let go!
And my heart aches anyway.

My stupid, bleeding heart.

And I keep letting people in, and these grown ass humans tell me I’m pretty and fun and smart and then they drop their bags with Brenda  and walk away.

I have to get better at dropping the bags and walking away.

Awkwardly yours,
Meg