Scraps
Tie together
the stories of the past
a broken heart
a teardrop or two
And a half written poem
about the color blue
A notebook
jammed with my history
and dotted with rhymes
an old porch swing,
nearly forgotten
I remember those times
A poem of laughter
or sadness
of joy
A torn love note to me
with the worst poem
ever written by a twelve year old boy
I pick up the scraps
and put them away
knowing I'll need them
once more, someday
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