Messy
Sometimes, I physically feel unable to clean my room.
Not because I’m lazy, or disorganized.
Rather, because as I’m sitting cross legged on my floor, with various papers, trinkets, awards, and possessions around me
I just can’t find anything worth discarding.
My pink monkey plush, it’s stuffing spilling out?— no, that was the plush he gave me.
My frayed bracelet, adorned with beads representing each of the seven planets?— no, it’s a representation of the best point in my life.
Each item serves as a trophy— a prize I’ve unlocked for every chapter of my life.
I want to lock it up in an exhibit, for others to curiously peer into, attempting to connect the dots of my life using a broken hair tie, a crumpled two dollar bill, and a big green teddy bear.
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