Untitled

Waking up in the morning to the sound of my alarm clock

that with the smallest crack makes one number look totally different.

As I look around my room the shine of light peeking through my broken window blinds

catches my eye.

It glimmers over my broken black suitcase which had recently been unpacked from

vacation.

But, that broken suitcase makes me wonder-

When my parents brought me home after adopting me, was that the suitcase they used?

If so, what did they put in it?

With that still in my mind I look to the foot of my bed and see my old chest with a cover

that doesn't completely close

and wonder how many generations it has travelled through.

And then I think of all the damaged things around my room, the cracked clock, broken

suitcase, old chest, and my adoption and wonder-

Even if things may seem broken will they always have a purpose?

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