What We Keep

Diving into clutter, the depths of my soul,

a junk drawer filled with the bits of control.

Batteries dying, old coupons to nowhere,

memories tangled in dust like strands of my hair.

I find a frayed photo, edges worn thin,

it whispers of laughter, a time when we’d grin.

Beneath the debris, life teeters and sways,

remnants of moments, through foggy, gray days.

Each object a heartbeat, each trinket a name,

as I sift through the past, nothing feels the same.

But I hold these fragments, they shape who I am,

and the clutter feels sacred, a silent exam.