Sticks: An Attempt at Poetry

My feelings are like sticks

I used to carry few

Now there are many

Some are marked as special

I can’t see them among the rest

My arms are crowded

Novel thoughts

New feelings

Old burdens remembered

Responsibilities assumed

Where is that feeling?

The one that made me glad?

Or that serene one?

Somewhere within

It’s there

But it’s lost

Sometimes I catch a glimpse

Sometimes I can almost feel it

Sometimes

The rest are sticks I have to carry

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