Junk

My misshapen jade junk box lounges.
Cradling its misshapen stuff.
Pink felt scraps shush noisy buttons,
Swaddled in cottony fluff.
Small twisted metal "I-don't-knows"
Tangle with feathers and nail files.
Scissors play hopscotch with rulers,
And chess with Lego crocodiles.
Pens, paper, pencils, and popsicle sticks
Poke my brand new pair of jeans.
Whose black denim hugged me quite closely,
But betrayed me and ripped at the seams.
Bright deadly needles wait quietly
To be jabbed in the eye with dull thread.
While cheap mismatched gloves chatter chummily
With a mangled, mauve teddy bear's head.
Paper clips shine, bracelets jangle,
Wirecutters wrap themselves in old string.
All this and more resides in my box
Of useless, yet useful things.