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My Desk

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As I walk into my room
My eyes fall on that plain white wooden desk
Sitting alone in the corner-
So many memories, so many items!

A pink family photo album laying in the middle,
Pages crisp and fine.
My shiny silver Mac.
My dad’s black iPad that I have claimed as my own
Sitting uncharged waiting for someone to bring it back to life.

My sisters blue mini portable DVD player,
Shoved against the far right corner,
Waiting for a weight to be lifted off of its shoulders.

Because on top is my iHome,
Blaring with tunes and tones.
My blue iPod,
Accessorized with pink head phones

And thrown carelessly in a corner,
My red phone that beeps constantly
with new text messages,
waiting to be read and discovered.

Two white wicker baskets,
Holding knick-knacks and unknown substances.
A mirror with endless smudges.

A lamp embroidered with many patterns,
Whose cord dangles limply from the socket.
A new book with pages unturned.

Broken pencils, cap less pens, where do I begin?
Erasers, gum, ponytail holders with loose strands of hair,
stringing out everywhere.
Hand sanitizer, mints, candy wrappers,
Empty water bottles from where the thirst was unbearable.

Cherry scented lip balm.
Chap stick, almost gone.
Sunglasses, faded because of all the time in the sun.
Letter stickers, and loads of unused paper.

Sticky notes, so I don’t forget
What I’m supposed to remember.

Endless work and a mess!

Thoughts, wonders, and secrets.
Waiting to be uncovered by the past.
When I am here this is my world!

My desk is a memory,
One I want to keep and cherish.
As the years go by, and memories fade.
I hope to be able to restore them.

Why don’t I get rid of my junk?
Why do I choose to keep it?
This “junk” matters to me.
The memories it holds are like a caged animal,
Waiting to be set free.





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