Mom says I’m a hoarder Always have been, always will be A collector of anything and everything Finding the world so intrinsically valuable In the most mundane of ways That six year old who skipped Across the playground Collecting Christmas-colored beads That someone had spilled haphazardly To store in the top drawer of my dresser Next to Spider-Man valentines And take-apart erasers shaped like cupcakes Until the day I came home to find My dad had thrown them all away And couldn’t understand why I was so devastated Over a handful of beads That twelve year old who hung on To old sheets of math homework Simply because I liked the doodle I had drawn In the top right corner Who’s backpack filled to the brim With papers that I just couldn’t abandon Because my handwriting was extra nice that day Or perhaps because you never know When that map of South America Might really come in handy That eighteen year old packing Ready to finally leave home I kept asking for more and more boxes So no single memory would be left behind And although mom begged me to donate That green paisley bag with the hole in it Or the bandana I got from summer camp I couldn’t bear to let any of it go I was already giving up a part of my life The least I could do was hold on to the things That keep me a tiny bit connected To the person I once was Now a twenty-two year old Who finally had the courage To pack a box of my old knickknacks For the local thrift store But ashamed to admit that I shed a few tears As I tucked away the t-shirt I had kept Since the fifth grade And a souvenir flag from a choir trip Taken nearly ten years ago I convince myself that I’ve matured As I throw all these things away That perhaps I’m not a hoarder anymore But even as I let go of the past I find myself opening a brand new box To fill with fancy pens that have run out of ink Coins dated with my birth year And magazine scraps from unfinished art I think about those beads Sitting in a landfill somewhere Part of me wishes I could have them back A taste of childhood nostalgia Chronic hoarder? Or chronic life-lover? You can toss out as many memories as you want But no matter what you do The cycle always continues