When decluttering my room the other day in a desperate attempt to pass time and in hope that a cleaner space would improve mental clarity, I came upon my somewhat overflowing ‘memory box.’ Over the past few years I’ve accumulated a huddle of notes, cards, souvenirs and miscellaneous items that have sentimental value and couldn’t bare to part with (but simultaneously didn’t want lying around as clutter is my worst enemy!)

Amongst this bundle of joy was a poem I had written when I was 10 sloppily scribbled in the back pages of a me-to-you notebook which, from the overwhelming number of naked pages, I can assume I wasn’t that fond of.  Once giving the thing a quick read I thought that the 10 year old poet in me wasn’t too shabby and actually produced something rather endearing and amusing. For those reasons, I thought I’d share it contents with you:

10- year old poem