Carpenter's Room. Poem by Mandy Lee

Everytime I falter, I craft a new self.
Shells lay strewn about this messy room.
They bear marks of history;
of feelings; of love, of loss.
They bear the marks of use;
of age and disrepair.

Will I be like them again?
Will I swap out this shell for theirs?
Will their memories still linger? ;
Even if I do my best to forget?

The shells are different,
but the muscles and memories still the same.
Like tapes worn from use, yet so familiar they still burn a hole in your heart.
Seems like the walls of this heart have become so thin,
that they finally let the light through.

Perhaps seeds will germinate,
and have the chance to grow.
Maybe it might do this machine good,
even if its metal components begin to crumble, and amount to nothing, but dust.