Junk Drawer

She felt like a junk drawer,
There’s one in every house
Filled with dried out superglue,
Door handles,
Misshapen forks,
Clothes pegs
And small pieces of dowel
That look too important to discard.
Like a junk drawer,
Her head was
A jumble of important things,
But nothing quite whole.
A jungle of thoughts and feelings,
But the right one never to hand;
A sea of broken, out-dated thoughts
Which should be discarded,
But somehow weren’t.
Instead,
Like the junk in the drawer,
They were allowed to fester,
Take root,
Overflow.
It was an uncomfortable way to be,
But she could not think
How to clear out the junk,
Or control it,
Or replace it with unbroken things;
People never clear out those drawers.
Now she understood why…