My Stuff

When you are born into brokenness that is the only feeling that seems to be familiar.

You learn to cope by going numb.

All of my “stuff” is placed in that jar on the shelf where I leave things to be.

I stuff the jar until it is full.

Sometimes, when I open the jar to put more stuff in it, the pressure from the compression makes everything pop right back out.

I get frustrated and leave my stuff on the floor.

Then I realize that I have to clean up.  I must clean up!

I gather my stuff and fold each piece just right so that it all fits back inside of that old dusty jar.

I close the lid tight every time I put more stuff into the jar.

Eventually, it all pops out again.

Here I am, once more, folding.

Part of me wants to get a new jar, a bigger jar.

Another part of me wants to set my stuff ablaze.

But then I would be stuck looking at that empty jar on the shelf where I leave things to be.  I dust around the things on the shelf, careful never to displace a thing.

I just sit in the corner and stare across the dimly lit room at that jar full of stuff that I want to set free.