Get Out Of Your Head

“Get out of your head,” they say
Like it’s a simple matter of opening the door and stepping

Outside

The mind is a home for them
Its walls familiar and furniture comfortably molded to the imprints of their behinds
But sooner or later the corridors get dusty and musty and crammy and crusty
And they have to get out and stretch their legs
And give the fumigators a chance to exorcise those pesky little wandering thoughts
The ones that scamper around and leave droppings along the baseboards

So they grab purse or wallet and go out to meet the World
And leave their mental cobwebs for the amnesiatic vacuum cleaners

hermit crab small

My mind is a home too
But one just right for a hermit crab like me
A tagalong dwelling more armor than abode
Not the first I’ve had, by any means
I’ve left a string of past mindsets in my wake
Philosophies whose dogmas grew too tight around the waist
Perspectives that looked nice in the store and grew ugly when held under the light
And emotions that didn’t go with anything else in my wardrobe
At each new growth of self, I shed these shells
Leaving them for someone else to try on for size

The one I’ve got now feels comfortable
Grown tight and snug, it fits me just so
For I’ve stopped growing now
Though whether from conclusion or confinement
I do not know

Get out of my head?
I suppose I could
Though the line between myself and the walls I wear
Is indistinct if it even still remains
But the shedding would be a violent thing
A ripping, tearing, pull-off-the-bandage thing
Exposing skin raw and tender from neglected friendships with air and sun
Then the cold and naked scuttle across the sand
Looking for a new ideology that hasn’t been broken in yet

Get out of my head?
The door hangs open
But I think I’d rather stay in today.

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