teenage poetry

stacks of teenage poetry erupt into flame
leaping through the air i grasp at
shards of paper with still legible fragments
feed them back into the blaze
the world will never know them twice
this is my fantasy
in truth:
they sit in stacks of composition journals
dusty in my closet under yearbooks of that era
in a pile of shirts aimed for donation boxes
it is a secret heap of shame
i blush at my adolescent grandiosity
knowing it is still present but better-guised
i think of rifling through the sheaths of paper
scouring for useable bits
seeds for better works
it never makes my to-do list
should i perish tomorrow
it will be like dying in ugly underwear

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