Work Text:
Moms not feeling well again,
Grandma keep bursting into my room,
saying ‘you don’t need privacy’
Dad barely visits me,
wednesdays and other weekENDs,
Claims he loves me, but might not care as much as he does
about my brother,
who is the only reason I still visit him.
The walls close in slowly,
As i stare through
b l i n d s
and
sun-bleached curtains
Losing track of time staring at the ceiling
I've learned to detach from my reality
When I walk into my room
As all the tables start to turn in middle school,
I'm blasting Taylor Swift on the Turntable I got for Christmas,
hoping to drown the sound of clock ticking
and the voices in my head.
The Bright pink walls covered with
Paintings
and
Picture frames
and
Paris Stickers
Drowning me in
colors
and
shapes
and
imagination
and
a sense of innocence
I never really knew when I was young.
It hypnotizes me,
The shapes and the sounds
The sounds of
Writing and Typing
Singing and Playing
Video games or Music
A spark of maturity hides within a childlike environment.
My room,
A place I can be me.