My Room

My Room Crumpled paper litters the floor recycled thoughts returning home my soul has become a stowaway within each scribbled dropping books line the many shelves a collection of all my friends love and companionship need not always be reciprocated Poet's stare at me from every wall their words pierce my very core for they know who I really am yet have only seen me in their own reflection an ivory chess set boasts its splendor signifying the game in progress although I find it easy beating myself having always been a professional at it two pictures adorn the front wall one, a crippled lady the other an old stray both hold my biography an autographed basketball signed by inner city youths my personal dream team their greatest victory, still breathing the antique radio blares modern music only to echo songs of the past a shiny 357 with one bullet chambered to protect me from the intruder that one day will invade my mind I refuse to apologize for the mess.