Mason Jars

I’ve always had this rambling thought
That minds are like mason jars
That store our sorrows and our joys
And hide our bleeding scars.

They keep our secrets deep within
They guard every single thought
And keep lingering fingers off the jars
Which others have always sought.

But when the pickles decompose
Just like secrets, unspoken
Those mason jars that hold them there
Are better off broken.