toys


that primordial glue that sticks
to the nerves of every adult unsure of their youth
clutching tattered belongings too old to be cute
or scraped to death
chipped and abused

righteous to find the hidden moments behind
a clockwork of nostalgia still too ripe to deny
that we’re all a ceramic figure
sitting on the same IKEA shelf
either waiting to be understood, or to be packed away
for another warm day
in the hands of a future we
never quite used

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