Human waste
Garbage bins line the streets
Trash, recycle, compost
Neatly sorted
To be deported out of sight
From our homes big and small
The rich and poor alike
we make trash
to reach the skies
and back it comes – back to us

and the waste that has pilled on inside my head
Not much to salvage
It belongs to waste
No matter how hard I try to sort it
Writing, reading, walking
Taking, singing, shouting
Packaging, labeling, burning
Suffocating, medicating, poisoning
I’ve tried it all
No pick up days
for the trash pilled up in my head
The garbage in me, stays with me

Will I learn to make less of it?
Will we?
Before it comes back – back to us


2 thoughts on “Trash

  1. Dear Parmis, what an interesting poem. I like to think that the things in our head that we no longer have value for can still prove useful. Like reclaimed land, they can become the foundation for who we wish to become. Happy writing!

  2. Parmis,
    You really hit home with this one. The only way I’ve found to manage this “head trash” issue has been to stop allowing others to pipe it into my head. This eventually helps as the information clutter settles. No television since 2002. No radio since 2003. No magazines or papers for just as long. Rare and carefully selected video input. MAYBE once a month or two a well-screened animation or science video consumed in small bites over multiple days.

    I’ve also reduced driving A LOT. Talk about HIGH stress. I’ve arranged a walking life.

    I felt anxious at first but gradually (months to years) down-regulated on simulation till I feel normal and quieter inside again.

    I can only reorganize clutter (head or real) so much. Mostly I’ve had to let it go and not bring any more in.


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