Priceless
I’ve always been overly protective of any knowledge
I’ve acquired, regardless of effort involved
I’m a hoarder of facts, solutions and hermetically sealed arguments.
They fill my closets my attics and basements
Each one gets a number and assigned space
In the catbird seats of my patchwork personality.
Like all hoarders I’ve reached the point of believing
My hidden cache is all I really have
And so I guard it with my life.
It represents my entire net worth.
Even to question it undermines my own profitability.
To doubt would be like hiring my own burglar
And who am I to question the methods that grant
Me the ability to afford this comfortable lifestyle.
My wife and children would starve
I’d have to leave, shamefacedly, in the pre-dawn morning,
Travel across multiple time zones
To the land of my own ignorance
Seeking to borrow someone else’s wisdom
Which never comes for free
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