The Box of Broken Hearts

it is that time of year again
when I get the box out
and look at the past
 
old stuff in a box
it's hexed, cursed
yet I cant let it go
 
not hoarding
just keeping
shit I shouldn't
 
things from the bad times
things others would toss
I have kept
 
the 1st pill bottle I ever found
a piece of glass from when I was stabbed  
the gold ring I took from the guy who raped me
 
the dress I had on when I caught my ex cheating
the plane ticket from Chicago when that dude tried to kill me
a piece of gum from the gas station I was robbed at
 
dirt in a jar from yard of the guy who ran over my cat
I have the phone that fat bitch first ever called me on
there is a roach from the party I got jumped at
 
tons of stuff, some I wont mention now
the box of broken hearts
kept  
 
shitty fucking memories
but they're mine
and they're real
 
the past happened
my mind wont forget
its not dwelling
 
once a year I take a gander
I sift through the box
looking, touching, feeling
 
then I tape it up
put it away
forget for another year
 
I am stronger
not weaker
those moments changed me
 
they do not define me
nor did they
nor will they ever