Mess is all I have ever lived in.
Mess from the start, from birth you must understand.
So forgive me when I explain my past selves, and none of them quite make sense.
There is another thing, I am forgetful.
Things come and go. I don't like to remember happy things.
My brain will not let me.
I remember trauma, anger and defeat. Nothing more, nothing less. I am sorry for the way I am wired.
I am sorry for the way I forget the simplest things.
Or the way I deal with emptiness. But this is me;
A mess.
I don't live in filth. My kitchen, living room, and bathroom are well kept.
But enter my room, and see a slew of half read books, pens, pencils, sketchbooks, notebooks, and photographs litter the tiny space.
This is my mess, it is very personal. I will clean as I feel. And when I am ready to declutter the trauma, anger and defeat, I will. I will abolish it, but only when I am ready.
I am sorry for my mess, but it is mine.