The dumpster outside my place of private worship

it's a big smelly one.
Old as Eve.
and ever so needed
I pass by it and I am reminded to deposit:
My warped sense of justice
my tendency to twist the story
my false confessions and my high ambitions
the seductive draw of escape
those rags of denial
and the wilted flowers of flattery
my book of reprisals
and some shreds of paper, gum wrappers, and a few empty cans of diet dr. pepper.

It feels good to do the right thing even when a part of me longs to horde.