There is a movement afoot
to only keep the things in life that bring you joy Items that bring a happy rush a smile in fashionable form But… I’m a hoarder Not of things though my husband might disagree I am a hoarder of feelings Of little hurts and insults I keep them tucked away safe and secure so that I may pull them out on a rainy day And look them over Marking each scar, reliving each wound Taking note of those that bled Picking at them until they hemorrhage again I am a saver I keep the painful memories running on a loop so that I may watch them at any time Remembering each tear each strangled cry The volume muted as the emotions rip across the screen I accumulate I store those little barbs letting them fester Keeping the thorns close pressed beneath the skin Letting the ache feed my angst Giving the throb a place to call home I am a collector Of insignificant insults to my self and to my soul Wrapping my suffering about my shoulders Tucking the hatred in tight so that no warmth will touch my reason Batting the friendly gestures of peace aside with my righteousness I am a hoarder, a collector, a saver of sorrow No one understands my treasures or wants to see what I’ve squirreled about me At least not more than once They are only interested in their own museums Their own collections Their own galleries of darkness I am a hoarder. But I am not alone.
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AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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