I belong to where I have been
Filled with stubs of tickets spent
Passes of my boarding and indentations of me in the seats I've slept in
I am the overstuffed and I am the poorly sewn and totems from my travel spill out when I dance
I am the nomadic collector of memories and moments,
of sticky hands grabbing fragments of wander lust.
And I am hiding them beneath these ribs.
Follow me and you may find them
I leave bits of my self in the footprints I step from.
Here. There.
I do not belong where you want me to.
