Internally reflected mirrors and there I sit
Collapsed in the center
Sifting through my soul
Silence is quiet of tongue, not stillness of thought

Furrowed brow, closed heart
Closed for cleaning
A tidying of clutter
Sweeping out heart shards, shattered words, broken actions

Reflections reveal an exhaustive summing of the whole
Where intent was never enough

Rifling through is tiresome
Upended baskets of thought
Peace in disarray

Why you gotta bring up old shit?

Closed for repair
A construction of philosophies
A buildup of constitution
Picking up this experience,
Inspecting that conversation

Marie Kondo that shit

Did anything spark joy?