The Part You Throw Away

I'm sifting through it all. Pour it into the fine net, shake it shake it and watch the powder rain start forming beautifully smooth powder hills on my life below.
And the rocks and pebbles and complications and unnecessary strifes and noise stay behind, being teased against the wire, like sins on fire. The instability of it all. Turbulance galore. And so they should stay behind. I have never done this before.

This is the part I throw away.

I have no times anymore for bits and pieces that are not smooth. I've had rocks and boulders to chew through and swallow and this is where I tell myself enough. Sift on through. Sift on through to the other side.
I dance and roll on powder hills that smell sweet and fold me into blissful silk cocoons. I should sift more often
I look at the rocks stuck in the wires above and smile.

This is the part I throw away. Good riddance.

And half an hour later there's a lemon cake with rainbow chip icing to go along with my contentment.
I sit on my sofa, legs entertwined and up on the table, music in the background, and rocks and bits scattered in the kitchen bin.