My Storage Unit

When lost and looking, if I say “where am I?”

Don’t think me witty

I will bend to look underneath ten years of storage

But it is best that you do not look with me

 

For in this place I have found curses and dangerous delights

Made up of truths and flatteries and lies

And even though I often fear the answer

I may ask again, “where am I?”

 

Mine are the ribbons and drawings and diaries

Scattered and better left behind

And I may stray to look for one thing or another

But I’m always careful to keep my search in mind

 

I fear often of this decade old storage unit

Not having seen the light in quite some time

That I will look beneath some painfully earned memory

And I will ask “where am I?” and myself I will find

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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