A fleeting moment passes staring into the darkness
With an impulse procrastination
That has defined the past week
Or has it been a month?
So long that guilt presses against the wall
As the toss of another empty water bottle
Hits the floor.
Unbeknownst is the reality
That the room has become a physical embodiment
Of the headspace lived in.
Staring some nights
At the darkness
Because it’s easier than shining a light
And cleaning up this week’s mess.
Maybe you feel that you don’t deserve
To have a clean room
Because of a voice reminding you
Of all of them you couldn’t help.
How do you deserve a clean room,
When you can’t help anyone?
But you must know
That the glass can only build so much pressure
Before the shatter
And the glass can only pour so much
Before it runs out of itself.
You must know
That cleaning your room
Creates more space to fill with something else;
How can you help someone
If your glass is empty
And the pressure continues to pile on?
How can you change the world
If you can’t even clean your room?