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