Pieces of Paper

These folded pieces of paper I hold are
worn and creased like the soul they come from.
They contain stories pulled like a
rotten tooth from my life,
stories that are as tired as I am,
that are hard to read.

But I still carry these pieces of paper with me
forcing my life into
the ears of puzzled strangers
continually courting controversy
just to spark any reaction.

Until my audience reveal their hand,
their own pieces of paper just
as worn and creased but also
burnt, ripped, shredded and worse.

I fold my life back up
and put it away again in my pocket.
Wondering why I
ever took it out in the first place.