I can hold your kitchenware, your collectibles, or, if you prefer, your politicians.

I stretch but never walk, hold outfits yet never wear them. I work best outdoors, hate rainstorms, and leave cloth hanging when my job is done. What am I?

It is often overlooked, With no purpose other than to fill space Yet it can lend charm to what would otherwise be emptiness

I rest where heartbeats whisper low, A gentle circle worn to show. Cold metal, gems, or threaded lace, I borrow warmth from skin and grace.

I open like a book but for reading, I have keys but no lock I work when you tap, sleep when you shut I travel with you, yet stay on your lap.