Clean Your Room

Look at my life.

Look at the mess,

I am in.

Like a dirty room, my mess.

Yes, it is, a mess, but does that mean I like it less?

Without a mess,

How could I clean, to discover the path to the door, and find dusty old memories that hid under my bed?

Who knew, that just by taking a broom to the floor, that this is where I would be led?

I find trash, yes, but no one is perfect.

But instead of lingering on that empty soda bottle,

Why can't we all put it in the trash can?

I admit, my room is rather crammed.

Filled with my experiences, ideas, and theories.

But I wouldn't like it any other way.

At the end of the day, I find my bed.

So I have someplace to lay,

And close my eyes, to rest.

I am starting to like my mess.

A room too clean screams to be dirtied up.

So I'll leave the laundry.  

I'll leave the half full tea cup.

So tomorrow, I have something to pick up.

And tonight I get to rest, in my bed, surrounded by my bit of mess,

So I can sleep tonight.


By my life.

The End

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