Mess

I need to clean up

this place: it’s a mess!

I can’t find anything in here;

unless it’s back under

the pile in the corner

next to a light that shines dimly,

or scattered amongst the books

and photographs on the floor.

Beads spill out of the windows,

clay and paint spatter the glass,

people come in and out through

the door,

half-written pages are tacked to the walls --

so’s this poem --

wood shavings cover the desk and

costumes bury the chair.

I really can’t find anything

‘cause I can’t move anywhere!

I need to clean up

my mind, it’s a mess!

Author's Note

I wrote this in high school and just now found it to post -- be kind!