I am not a hoarder

I am someone halfway, and I am not a hoarder.

I am not defined by the things I have kept since the age of three. I am not explained by shoeboxes of the miscellaneous bound with twine. I am not these shelves of books, not the archive of ticket stubs, not ancient textbooks, not red and blue paper kites with missing strings. I am not bound by tired rules of evidence, or by contemporary trusts. I am not to be judged by love letters written on napkins, tattered notebooks, newspaper clippings, or by my thoughts ad nauseum breeding in their reverie. So I will stand back and let strange men finger my belongings, breathe in the dust, and box them up for therapeutic sealing,

I am someone halfway ... whether I like it or not.