Why Are There 14 Pairs of Shoes in My Dining Room?
A poem.
As I look around my modest home,
I see a giant mess.
A pile of disorder that accumulated over time,
With no date for organization in sight.
A stack of plastic boxes
Waiting to be filled with the hope of a new beginning.
A roll of shiny new trash bags
In need of unfurling and stuffing with the past.
The disorder tells a story.
Of two people who used to be happy with their life together,
But who now can’t make time or
They won’t find time to put their life in order.
Or maybe it’s that the people living here
Are too lazy to repair what they have become?
But is there such a thing
As being too lazy to treat what is killing you?
Or maybe they don’t care?
They stopped caring
Because it is too late,
And because it no longer matters.
Circumstances and time have taken their toll.
Demanding jobs, physical pain,
Emotional anguish and loss
Of those we…
