Clutter

Came up with this poem as a metaphor for a friend to explain how mentally stressed and overwhelmed I was. They got the idea

Don't ask about the cluttered bedroom of my mind.

I've tried to clean it, but it's too much for me to handle on my own.

I would cry out for help but the windows and doors are bolted shut,

inside and out, never unlocked on both sides.

The ends of my shackles were last seen under a pile of magazines

that tell me I'm not good enough, clothes that never fit me right,

and old pictures I hate looking at.

I'm trapped until I can clean the clutter but it's always too much.

I go to put away a shirt and realize the dresser is broken,

I search for tools but the closet is too messy,

so I start stacking shoes on a rack I don't own

in an attempt to create some order in the madness of my mind.

The shoes fall over, the tools are still lost,

the dresser stays broken,

and the shirt stays dejected on the floor.

I lay dejected on the floor.

Author's Note

I'm backkkkkk. Don't know if anyone even reads these but after a very long time I'm writing again. Let me know what you think of my new work! (There will be a lot of new material as I upload all the things I've written down)

Reviews

[nefalnumair]

"inside and out, never unlocked on both sides" i love this.