i rose in structure, guided and conroled
carefully tendered and formatted to be
organized and on track
but as soon
as i left my home
i lost all that, though it barely ever took hold.
I just drank an entire *** of coffee and am now heading to bed
my floor is made of clothes and my shelves are made of books
and the glow in the dark stars on my ceiling are for the little girl
who wasn't allowed to tarnish her perfectly painted room
and i think being raised in such control has lead to an
excessive chaotic behaviour.