Whose Shit Is This?
Is it mine?
Or is it yours?
Long entangled strings from old baggage seem to follow,
like a shadow.
The longer you’ve traveled this earth, the more you collect.
In it can be treasures or and, rotten waste.
Open up your baggage! Its damn flowing train is getting too long!
It’s now a tripping hazard for you and for me!
I wish it were as easy as the Baggage Claim at the airport.
Travelers recognize their own or can check the name tag.
But this baggage isn’t so easily claimed!
It’s mistakenly claimed as mine when it’s really yours!
Back and forth the disclaimed and misclaimed baggage gets passionately tossed between us.
Like a hot potato.
Scorched are the hands who hold on too long.
Not all of this will burn.
There are unclaimed treasures inside too.
There’s been a spill from the unfinished business of your past.
It has contaminated everything.
When you indiscriminately throw away your past, it comes back.
Boomerang.
Give and it will be given back?
Karmic energy?
Reclaim the abandoned energy within and between you.
This will be a joint success, a joint failure, or a joint holding pattern; awaiting clearance.
You cannot abandon this energy force, without consequence.
The whole is more than the sum of its parts.
I repeat…
The whole is more than the sum of its parts.
So…
Whose shit is this?
It’s ours.
Your past, my past
Your beliefs, my beliefs
Your experiences, my experiences
Your pain, my pain
Your dreams, my dreams
Your grief, my grief
Your fears, my fears
Your victories, my victories
Your strengths, my strengths
Your weaknesses, my weaknesses
It all goes into one bag.
Like different threads, weaved into a tapestry.
Joint ownership. Joint consequences. Joint time limit.
One bag
One tapestry
Many threads
Our threads
We work to carry it together and move on,
Or we toss it back and forth together
And, remain firmly stuck in a holding pattern; awaiting clearance…
someday. Who knows when?
Meanwhile, time passes by.
Time – non-renewable resource.
Time. No returns, refunds, or exchanges.
Whose shit is this?
Ours.
Whose treasure is this?
Ours.
*This is a poem about coupleshit coupleship.
mindingmybiz 
