Once upon a life ago…
My things were for living,
Not things I was living for…
To make my good living feel better,
Not make me feel better living good…
Things were means, not ends…
A way to measure my world …
Never the measure of my worth…
Things hallowed my toy chest,
Not the chest of my hollowed heart…
Some things bought, others made…
All were used, all were played,
I found my things to find myself…
To help discover who I am …
And, what was mine was always yours…
But, gaining objects, I lost objectives…
My playthings started playing me…
Attached to more, I detached from moral…
Till possessions now possessing me,
Became bigger, better, prettier than yours…
I worked so hard to charge my credit…
Amassing assets to stockpile status…
Buying appearances to pay off doubts…
Pressing you to be impressed with me…
But, you were impressed with my things…
The more I had, the less I was,
The more I had to accumulate…
Until, enough was never enough,
To replace who I had notbecome…
And, by then you’d lost interest in me…
Without you now, I am my things…
Belonging to my belongings…
Faded objects, fated obsolete
Lonely boy with lonesome toys,
Longing for you to come and play…