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This Poem Will Fall Apart
Humans get attached to things so easily broken - mere objects. This is self destructive. Why do we willingly choose to put so much of our identity into something that could be lost,
or simply fall apart? Maybe that’s the only way were can shed the layers of our past. Your car from high school, which smells like memories and long nights, gets crashed. Your favorite black hightops you wore every day of your 20’s, which embodied the true spirit of what it is to reject the verge of adulthood, go missing. Those quotes you taped to your wall when you were 15, because you needed a reminder that there are bigger and better things ahead, get taken down by your parents while you’re doing bigger and better things at university. We do this intentionally. We must. We put our identity into things that indisputably break because that’s the only way we’ll grow.
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"I never cry" is what I said repeatedly to fellow party goers as I sobbed uncontrollably, looking for my backpack. I went to a party with kids I did not know, kids who could be easily categorized by the judgemental eye as "sketchy." But I tried not to judge, and against all my mental warnings I set my backpack down on a table. 10 minutes later, it was stolen. I broke down, and nobody even really knew why. That backpack didn't have money it, nor a debit card, school id, phone, etc. These are the things people usually fret over losing. But no, my backpack held things of sentimental value in it. My favorite book, a vintage tshirt I got when I was 13, the lipstick that smelled like my grandmother. As I heaved and frantically searched for my stolen backpack, I realized that so much of my past was put into mere objects. And so came this poem.