Seems like every few years

A voice reaches up

Grabs me by the throat and the feet

Tells me it’s time to move on

Get out

Start fresh

All those clichéd ideas

So I pull out boxes, I go through my stuff

I toss out some

I repackage others

I get on a plane,

Hop in a car

Start anew

New surroundings

New people

Same me

Same misgivings

Same failures

Same ten cases of books I haven’t read

The same stack of notebooks

That contain great brilliance

If only I could read my writing

I get a new cat

A new job

I find a new love

Every few years I try a new path

Only to wake up one day

To see the path is the same

The same feet

The same throat

The same crazy voice

Telling me it’s time

 

I hear that voice now,

She starts as a whisper

In a year she will be a roar

If she doesn’t shut up tho

I may have to murder her

I live in paradise

My path is a good one

My boxes are safe

My shoes are comfy.

I am not going anywhere

I think she is the one that needs to go.