Feelings are visitors,
So they say.
But I think I might have,
A couple squatters.

The eviction notices
Go un-responded to.
I fear its an infestation,
‘Cause they just stay and stay.

I’m reluctant to look under the bed,
For I worry,
What if these feelings
Have multiplied?

Hurt.
Anger.
Betrayal.
Longing.

What then do I make of my own rights?
The right to run.
The right to hide.
The right to forget. 

Perhaps these are not my rights at all,
But rather just dreams I weave,
During all the nights
I can’t sleep.

Because these passengers
Of the past,
Keep pouring concrete
Into me.