In a Pink-Walled Room
I can’t even call it a room
Old mattress, no bed lamp, and fluffy pillows
Just a cabinet full of didactic books on the top shell
Some enjoyable comic books and dull novels on the middle
And DVD collections on the bottom of the shell
Couple of boxes full of crap on the floor
A broken radio and a wrecked watch nailed on the wall
In a pink-walled room
I only have this one piece of technology
A multifunctional diary to write my journal
The only way to express my feeling
Rather than to share it with those who act as if they care
In a pink-walled room
Some poetry are nailed to the wall
With words where others barely to understand
And others start to think that I’m losing my mind
But I think they are the ones who don’t even have a mind
In a pink-walled room
Where others put their junks on it
Filled it with wasted family keepsakes
I would call it a wastebasket
But they keep calling it, my room
What a beautiful life I have
In a pink-walled room
Where the rain keeps dripping from the ceiling
With an old curtain keeps hanging on my window
And the ants are started to make their kingdom
It stills the best place to express my feeling
My pink-walled room
Copyright © Mony Reyna | Year Posted 2008
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