Sidewalks

 

The fabric of my room is chalk

And I write all over sidewalks with my room

Sometimes I draw flowers, US presidents, clouds

My room is the mirror of my mind

What you see in my room and on the sidewalk is what is going on in here

What you see on the sidewalk is what you see in my room

 

You should’ve seen my room when I stopped feeling emotions

It smelled like no one had lived in it for a long time

the neutral linen smell of used, clean blankets

You should’ve seen my room when I was crying at in the morning, 

when I thought I had nothing left

The walls haven’t shrunk like that in a long time

You should’ve seen my room when I felt like my heart was sinking to the ocean floor

I don’t know if there was more water in my heart or my cheek

I was drowning

You should’ve seen my room when I had a plan to end my life

You should’ve seen my room I mean my mind I mean my room I mean my eye

You should’ve seen my eyes

 

When I looked at the balcony 

 

But you should’ve seen how clean my room was when I started therapy

No pet hair crusted in the carpet, and the space next to my bed stopped being the kitchen sink

You should’ve seen my room when my best friend came over

Video game controllers and snack bowls spilled on the ground

And for once I liked the messiness 

because it was caused by good company and not my mind

 

You should’ve seen my room when I started therapy

Clothes picked up off the floor

My bed is made

Things folded and neat

And a flower on the sidewalk

From the chalk in my head

 
This poem is about: 
Me

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