Free

Free from its hold, I harbor the rigors of the day no more.
Free from the hostility, there is less to be bitter about; there are fewer reasons to hate.
Free from its capture, it feels incredible to breathe once again.
Free from this hell, let’s see where things can go from here.
Free. Free. Free.
And it feels so fucking good.

Free from this routine, so tiring it had all become.
Free from the shame, the guilt and anguish are no more.
Free from the secrets, there is nothing that I need to hide anymore.
Free from this hell, let’s see where things can go from here.
Free. Free. Free.
And it feels so fucking good.

Free from its gloom, the days are brighter, the nights not nearly as long.
Free from the anger, it was long past the time to let it all go.
Free from the addiction, this mind, this body, this soul have never felt so clean.
Free from this hell, let’s see where things can go from here.
Free. Free. Free.
And it feels so fucking good.

The freedom that comes when you’re able to unload suffocating baggage.

Written in 2013

Copyright, The Poetry of Bryan Buser