February 20, 2011
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What is it that I find so intimidating
About all the boxes stacked watching and waiting
Shuffled to the sideline, piled on the shelf
How ever can I face so much of myself?
I try estimating, I try calculating
How many boxes are accumulating
I’ve kept every paper, each pebble of memory
Trying to make me less empty, less empty
Here in the silence the souvenirs might
Bring me some company, illusions of light
"No solace in the soal-less"
A quiet voice mocks
"If you can’t fill your heart,
then at least fill a box."

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