When my mind becomes cluttered 

I must clean it out 

one cardboard box at a time. 

You see my mind doesn’t have a local goodwill or salvation army 

where you can drop off all the things 

that are no longer useful to you 

and forget all about them. 

My mind has a storage unit. 

My storage unit is just good intentions and promises I forget about 

until dust settles on them and I can no longer distinguish one from the other. 

My mind has attics and basements 

full of emotions and moments 

trying to escape

sometimes all at once. 

There is no panic room in which I can hide in

who designed this place anyways?

I am a hoarder of memories 

both good and bad 

please do not touch that one 

or this one 

or that one way off in the corner.

I might need them for later

though later never comes.