Ever deeper dare I delve
across a long forgotten shelf
where I keep the broken things
which still poke, scratch and sting

I should've tossed them long before
these old pieces I can't ignore
But there they sit and there they'll be;
just these collections of a broken me

What is it about the things I've stored?
Some for longer and some shorter
Why won't they just be ignored?
Are we all just emotional hoarders?

One at a time I must remind
my fearful heart to just let go
and yet though I try
still I find

my collection grows