Confession of a Closet Cry Baby

I gave up throwing tantrums
When I realized I had
No audience to impress.

I’m as unfortunate as the tree
That falls quietly
In the middle of a lonely forest.

All my angst is now stacked up
Neatly in bottles, in a closet
Where the sun don’t shine.

I visit my tantrums often,
Cleaning the golden dust,
Checking their tartness.

One day, I’ll show an unsuspecting someone
My precious collection and
Accidentally, a bottle will fall.
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