Poetry and the Past

I spent some time today shuffling through a box of my past. Never fear invisible audience, I'm not beginning with an endlessly cliché metaphor, I was literally looking through a literal box of old junk. My Junk. Strange newspaper clippings, old id cards, floppy disks with painfully cheesy poetry, stories I wrote in the second grade and a smattering of ribbons from random competitions throughout elementary school, i.e. science fair and a few swim races.

What is my thought regarding the useless piles I’ve managed to retain through the years?

The more I dispose of things; the more sifting through and only keeping "the important" unsettles me. I know that I could throw it all away and much of it would slip through my memory's sieve--gone forever. I know that I create my reality by doing this same thing, endlessly recreating and reforming my past. So if this is what I already do in my mind daily-an innate action made possible through the trickery of eternally subjective and changing perception, perspective and world view...well, why should I mind if I do it more consciously as well? I realized today that I would never remember some events, situations, or people if I did not routinely practice this ritual of sorting through tangible representations of my life and the many selves I have been.

This brings to a conclusion; I am attached to the belief that I can and should try to hold on to these pieces because it is a virtue to remain mindful of who one has been. If anything, I suppose it is valuable to retain one's memory-no matter how imperfect-because you inevitably begin to find one of the few clear truths in life emerges: the only constant is change. Oh, and it's fun to laugh at your terrible (and creepy) stalker poetry from Jr. High too.

A randomly selected tidbit:

"Together"
I wish I could describe in words what you mean to me
The awkward stares and silences mean worlds to me you see
I love the way you look when embarrassment fills your mind
And when we touch each other accidently, I wish I could stop time
I wish I could, always be around you all the time
Yet I know that can never be
Because there is a price to pay you see
You simply don't feel the same way about me


Heavy, I know. Just be thankful I didn't share "obsessed" or several particularly bewitching untitled pieces.
Until another time.