This is a poem about sitting in my room

I wrote this poem while sitting in my room

My room is more than a room

Its a place that truly exemplifies

my laziness when it comes to laundry

Piles of clean clothes

Dirty clothes

they all mix so it doesn’t matter which is which

The walls are light purple; any 7 year olds dream

I grew up in my room

My mismatched furniture consisting stuff I picked out when I was 8 to things I picked up yesterday.

I thought I would spend every waking moment in my room

It was my place that I could make all my own

Its funny that those were the days I spent the least amount of time there.

All I did was sleep in my room

Now I don’t even sleep

I just lie awake with a pillow over my head listening to the same thing every night

Its either heated phrases spat with irony considering they always told me to never say those words

Or heated sex filled with similar words, again, that they told me never to say

There’s no inbetween

Sometimes the night consists of both

But no inbetween

These paper thin, light purple, childish, outdated, tally marked covered walls counting my days, have heard everything

I have learned more from the inside of these walls than I have the out

I learned how to play guitar

I learned that the man who wrote my history textbook had too much time on his hands

I learned not to use two blow dryers at once (it'll blow the fuse)

I learned that my house phone’s ringtone gets pretty annoying when they’ve decided to stop answering it

That being home alone until 10:00 makes for the best nights

And that faking being asleep when they walk in has saved me from more trouble than I was in in the first place

My room has taught me the perks of being silent

Maybe if they spent some time in my room, they would learn the beauty of silence too