The Emptiness of Fullness, the Fullness of Emptiness

The accumulation of who I am
Like a museum of pieces carefully chosen
Or a comfortable home full of deliberate debris
Or a hoarder's lair
Full of things I'd rather be rid of
Yet cannot throw away
Or a garbage dump
Growing ever more toxic
Until it all must be wiped clean away
The composite me
Something to be treasured?
Or simply thrown away and forgotten?

April is National Poetry Writing Month

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