Yes, I have put away childish things,
But haphazardly, hastily,
As if preparing for houseguests,
Stuffing old fears and tears in drawers,
Monsters shoved back under the bed,
And wayward wants inside my head,
So that my life now resembles
A poorly stuffed pillow,
Little clumps of softness
Finding holes in the hems
And sometimes breaking free.
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