Ode To My Stuff


Drawer after drawer.  Shelf beyond shelf.

Stacks of my beautiful stuff.
Some of you pristine. Never to be touched by my hand since the day you were tendered.
Some of you used.  Worn with the caress of my consumption.
Long forgotten or at the front of my thoughts.
You have a place in my heart.
Or do you?
Must I keep you?
Must I hold on?
Just because you are mine?  I possess you.
You are my stuff!  My beautiful stuff.
I forgot about some of you until I had room no more.
Then, with all of my might, I knew it was time.
It was time.  Time let you go.
My stuff!  My beautiful stuff.
Then, my heart and my mind doth continue to battle the war I have set before me.

Safety-New York Logic

Talking to a guy yesterday, a real New Yorker.  I told him that I actually feel safe alone in New York.  I am always aware, but not afraid.  I expressed that I have been more afraid in Alabama at different times.  He replied with, “Yeah, here in New York. Somebody may knock you down and maybe….say…uh….take your purse, but they aren’t gonna kill ya.  They just gonna knock you down and run. Those other places they got plenty of room to hide and kill ya.”  Y’all don’t worry about me.  I don’t carry a purse here.  I have a backpack.