Original photographs by PMMA.

She likes to keep things.
Unopened Publisher’s Clearing House Notices on the top of the bookshelf.

Broken clasps from broken bangles and broken dreams.
Chinese take out in the fridge… from two Christmas Eve’s ago.
She won’t play any card game where she has to discard from her hand.
Always holding on.
She should have thrown those pumps away when the heel cracked but they’re in the closet.
She should have taken those too small baby clothes to Goodwill- but the memories are fresh.
Some people call it being a packrat.
Always holding on.
I know that it’s really fear.
Fear of letting go.
Fear of having nothing.
And right before all of the clutter comes crashing down she realizes in time
her life is a collection of tattered and worthless reminders
making everything found hard to forgive

Making everything lost hard to forget.
She begins to notice that he is broken too.

Scarred and useless. She likes to keep him.

Vain and imposing. She needs to keep him.
Human clutter. She has to keep him.
And she’s been afraid to let him go for so long she went blind to him.

Just another object. She likes to keep things.

Just another spoiled dish. She needs to keep things.

Just another out of fashion bauble. She has to keep things.

Taking up room in her shadows.
She could not see the freedom in throwing trash away
Because when she is alone she ceases to exist.

And right before all of the clutter comes crashing down she realizes in time

He’s a waste of her youth.

Objects are not precious.

Simplicity is painful-

When you’ve been hiding from peace.