My Catalogue of Mistakes

She rifles through
my catalogue of mistakes
looking for something new,
looking for new ways
to prick herself.

I tell her
"look at my new writing.
It's so much better."

She does,
but it's just not
as compelling a read
as the catalogue.

Everyone has their inventory
of drunken reverie,
bad carnal decisions,
wasted tears and hours,
complete with photographs
of the most compromising positions
in glorious color
each one perfectly suitable
for framing.

The wise person knows
to avoid scratching
that unreachable itch
which would dig a hole
deep into his soul.

I learned long ago
to keep my curiosity
about such ticklish things
on a short leash
because letting it run free
would only enslave me.

For I have been
a jealous monster
at times
and I hated it,

so I tried to leave it behind
by avoiding rear view mirrors
or unlocked journals
or photo albums from your past
where I've not been invited.

Everyone has a past
with luggage stamped
"Regret"
"Indiscretion"
"Loneliness"
"Loss"

and everyone has
their catalogue.

If someone
shares theirs with you
don't study it,
don't memorize it,
don't judge its contents

just accept it and move on,

lest you be added
to its pages.

[Posted for #OpenLinkNight at www.dversepoets.com - come on over and have a drink of words.]