Here's a stupid poem I wrote this morning

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Stuff

Finally, I'm getting some new storage for my stuff/ My room's so very cluttered, I always have too much/ I can never find the things I need when I need them most/ So I'm packing my useless things up and setting them to roast/ My room is full from wall to wall as far as eyes can see/ There's so much stuff from wall to wall that there's barely room for me/ I must take action quickly or risk being buried alive/ I want to start new, really I do, but there's simply no room inside/ My room has but one window, and it's light is ever fleeting/ I made bed of discarded trash so my back pain's never ceasing/ But a dream was flighted to me this very evening/ A strong voice whispered in my ear, 'it's time that you be leaving'/

... "And what of my stuff?" I asked/

...The voice replied 'Tis all but trash'/

'Burn your room and all within'/ And I did so at once and now I feel dim/ In my haste to incinerate my trash / I failed to secure myself an escape path/ I am now trapped and my time is short/ But allow me one last report/

You cannot let your stuff build up in your room/ and neither can you sweep it away with a broom/ nor can you destroy it with a big boom/ Be careful or like me, you will be building a tomb/ Use all your stuff to your best advantage/ Weave it in all of your clothes and your fabric/ Make sculpture and furniture and gadgets and tools / In speech and in food, give everything use/ Make everything around you a part of your being/ take it and embrace it and then you'll start seeing/ Use your stuff, share it and trade/ Don't be like me and let the memories of it fade/ This heat is scalding, I'm afraid I must away/ Please, for your sake, take control of your stuff today.

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