I've come to realize baggage,
Is really a woven empty bag.
Yarn of broken hopes and expectations.
Woven together of things, we thought we once had.
Mostly made up of people,
Really just of the memories.
That over time we have formed.
Memories needled together.
In some knit stitch,
Knitting kind of storm.
The key to baggage is in part knowing,
A few things, right from the top.
It's only an empty bag you've been making.
That you have to unravel, to get the knitting, to stop.
Unravel all of those people.
From the strings of moments,
They've been trapped in.
Like a web of a spider, life *******.
Removing the web, is where you begin.
Hopefully you'll find yourself in the remainder.
Of the now useless, pieces of thread.
And once you've untangled all that madness.
You'll find, it's made, a pillow for your head.