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My Room

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breathe in the smell of disarray
wardrobes and wonderings strewn
across the carpet
homework and high hopes piled
on the desk
light shines in through the window
smudged with the prints of
anxious fingertips pressed
upon the glass, of a young girl's
face gazing out as if the view
might show a new world of whimsy
instead of the usual
grumpy old oak.
the bedsheets lay in a heap
by the nightstand,
each wrinkle and crease telling tales
of last night's dream
listen close, hear the whisperings
of the ceiling fan
oh, the things it has seen



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