There is a little attic upstairs
That no one visits
The door only gets glares
And in the centre of the attic sits
Photo albums of our old memories
Except none of the good ones are there
It is only the bad memories one sees
One day the little girl could not bare
The curiosity any longer
So she made a plan to sneak in
She did just that and no one saw her
But instantly regretted what she had seen
Now, she finally understood why those memories were hidden away
She decided something had to be done
She put them all together in a pile in dismay
And set them on fire and watched them burn
There is a little attic upstairs
That the little girl visits often
And every time she finds a new photo album of nightmares
She watches it burn till it too is gone
About “The Little Attic Upstairs That No One Visits”:
Apologies for any typos, I burnt my fingers roasting marshmallows with my cousin brother and my sister so it’s a little hard to type right now.
This poem is about trauma. Many of us have little attics we don’t want to visit that contain all our bad memories. Except that the only way to get rid of those memories that haunt us to work through them and “burn” them till they can’t hurt us anymore. The more we hold on to these bad memories the more they control us even if we’re not aware of it.
What did you think of “The Little Attic Upstairs That No One Visits”? Do you have a little attic that you have been avoiding? Let me know in the comments below because I would love to hear from you. Or simply stop by and say hi!
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