As I get older
and live longer
and see more
and experience more
and screw up more
I should be able to
write more and use
all that experience
all that living
find inspiration and new ideas if I
rifle through all my suitcases
filled with my successes
filled with my loves
filled with my achievements
filled with my pains
filled with my disappointments
filled with my regrets
filled with my losses
but the more I search
the more I realize
it doesn’t matter anymore
my past is now irrelevant
some of it even ridiculous
to write about it would be
like a tired cook turning
yesterday’s gourmet meal
into today’s cheap soup