That box

Like a ragdoll
No longer played with,
Thrown aside in a drawer.
Worn-out clothes
Tucked in chests.

No definite sections.
No seperate departments.
Organisation non-existent.
All in one place.

Some pretty pictures
Of times long ago,
Fading, yellowing,
Almost... lost.

Some shredded pieces
Strewn all over the floors
Whispering its story
Of anguish and pain.

Some rumpled clothing
Once put on show.
Pretty flowers, coloured bows.
Successes and accomplishments.

Things that don't fit -
Do they matter now?
Is there space in your heart,
For that box, of the past?