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My Room
This is a poem about sitting in my room
I wrote this poem while sitting in my room
My room is more than a room
Its a place that truly exemplifies
my laziness when it comes to laundry
Piles of clean clothes
Dirty clothes
they all mix so it doesn’t matter which is which
The walls are light purple; any 7 year olds dream
I grew up in my room
My mismatched furniture consisting stuff I picked out when I was 8 to things I picked up yesterday.
I thought I would spend every waking moment in my room
It was my place that I could make all my own
Its funny that those were the days I spent the least amount of time there.
All I did was sleep in my room
Now I don’t even sleep
I just lie awake with a pillow over my head listening to the same thing every night
Its either heated phrases spat with irony considering they always told me to never say those words
Or heated sex filled with similar words, again, that they told me never to say
There’s no inbetween
Sometimes the night consists of both
But no inbetween
These paper thin, light purple, childish, outdated, tally marked covered walls counting my days, have heard everything
I have learned more from the inside of these walls than I have the out
I learned how to play guitar
I learned that the man who wrote my history textbook had too much time on his hands
I learned not to use two blow dryers at once (it'll blow the fuse)
I learned that my house phone’s ringtone gets pretty annoying when they’ve decided to stop answering it
That being home alone until 10:00 makes for the best nights
And that faking being asleep when they walk in has saved me from more trouble than I was in in the first place
My room has taught me the perks of being silent
Maybe if they spent some time in my room, they would learn the beauty of silence too
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