My brain has compartments where I keep stuff.

Like boxes set aside for people, dreams and tears.

Some boxes are locked to guard the contents

— from secret intrusion, bold escape

or curiosity — I don’t know which.

Some people dear to me — past and present

— have their boxes filled with fond memories.

In my everyday world I don’t want to

trip over stuff locked in those boxes.

I have before and that’s why I have these







One thought on “Compartments

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