Teen Rebel writes Protest Poem "413 S. Miller" in 1982

Memories stack neatly into boxes.

Pieces of my life are disassembled.

Lost things are found, many are lost.

And yet I disbelieve.

Selective hands examine my possessions.

Contemplating eyes scan each item.

Rummage, perhaps, yet each has meaning.

How hard it is to leave.

Last preparations are made with finality.

Hallways echo in their silence...

Suppressing me within their walls.

Realization dawns too late.

~ Juliann Rich