In My Room

my hiding place

Nothing matches.
Blue walls, white carpet,
black and brown furnishings,
yellow bedsheets and grey blankets.
Posters with red backgrounds,
each with the psychedelic face
of a Beatle.
A short bookshelf lined with
childhood stories,
and poems that make me cry.
The well-loved Harry Potter series,
along with Diary of a Wimpy Kid,
Divergent, and random titles
no one's heard of before.

There's a CD rack that's
chock full of
various 80's rock artists,
musical soundtracks,
90's boybands,
and my own mixtapes.

On my walls hang
photos, paintings,
and a framed Grateful Dead record.
Two electric basses
hung unprofessionally
dangle over my bed,
threatening to flatten me
if I kick them in my sleep.

It doesn't sound like
paradise,
but it's my escape,
my Fortress of Solitude.
It's where I shut out the world
and I write
and I write
and I write
like I'll never be able to write again.

So I sit,
and I listen to my
John Mayer CD,
hoping it never gets sick of repeating
the first track.
I grab my book,
along with my pencil,
and the words just flow.

Reviews

[Paul Bell]

A bit of gravity does it for me, so escaping to a good place is always welcome.