This is me
Freshly washed clothing cover the bedroom floor.
Left shoes buried under the bed
Right shoe is under the desk.
Week old cereal bowl takes up space on my dresser.
Every object, thing, every piece of item I own is eaten
These four walls have no mercy.
I opened this box but I also closed this door.
Yet nowhere to be found.
My blood reached its boiling point.
Frustration breaks through.
A bowl of anger overflows
No wrinkles on that white pollo.
The seams of the jeans perfectly meet with each other.
Color coronation is filled within the closet.
The lavender air fills yours lungs.
Blinds let in the new shine of the sun.
The mind is at ease with the body.
Anxiety spills through the pores of your skin.
Order and tidiness is a foreign language to you.
The floor is hidden. Gone.
Mom has given up.
No worries though, the room doesn't reflect in personality.
These four walls are home.
Whether disastrous or extraordinary.
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