Bric-a-Brack,

not so dissimilar to the former

Bric-a-Brac.

My own version brought about

after my time spent

in Brackendale psych ward in 2015.

Tribulations like these

have laid the foundations

of this book.

My spine has long carried the belief

that I am housed by fragments

of little to no value,

the sum of my parts inessential,

like a table dressing up the bric-a-brac

in last attempts

before waste-claimed.

I am still scribing poetry

that desires to be more than a bruise,

a landmark of my experiences

exalted to the grandeur of healing.

I pray this journey that you take with me

will relight purpose,

so that you may meet comfortably

in the process

of your crawl spaces gracing light,

a refraction birthed by newfound faith.