Messy Soul Poem
1/25/2014

I cleaned my room once.
They say cleaning cleanses the soul, but...
What if I like mine *****?

What if I don't regret those nasty sins?
You know, those things,
committed in the parking lot of a bar.
Like that time I keyed a drunken *******'s car?

What about when I poured my drink down the sink,
because I didn't want you to think I was such a light weight,
and make myself a fool in front of you?

What about at your mom's house,
we stayed up all night watching movies,
trying to conceal our loud laughs to not wake her up,
because **** she is crazy.

What about at the movie theater,
during the opening credits,
when I threw candy at the people in front seats,
because really who the **** likes to sit in the front seats??  
I mean they had it coming.

Or what about those times on my knees,
and saying, "Nobody hear this please,"
but I really did hope just a little bit, maybe.
What?  Don't take that the wrong way.

I was talking about praying in my bedroom,
while you walked downstairs to grab a drink of water,
praying that you might really be happy with me,
and if not, then that you never find your happiness,
if that meant choosing to leave me.

I thought about these things,
these nasty sins.
And after, I decided not to clean my room again for a while.
I like my mess.
That shiny sheen of bland brown carpet covered in dust,
is the most beautiful thing I've seen all my life.


Because I've been the one holding 3 suitcases at the airport,
trying to get to my terminal,
back **** near ready to break,
but the bag broke first,
spilling out all my **** onto the floor.
and eventually I just said, No More.

My soul can't afford another spill
For that kind of damage,
I'd need a dump truck to pick up the mess.
But I digress,
there are some things I hold on to,
somethings that I refuse to clean.

Like that love note I found under my bed,
from when I had just turned seventeen.
or like the math test I got an A on,
because I ****** at math and I felt really proud of it,
or like the first pornographic photo I ever printed out,
don't worry I've kept it clean.

And there are some things in my soul,
that as much as I don't want to see them anymore,
I keep held in store.

Like my middle school friend Deja.
I told her my life story and lived a bit of it with her too.
To be fair for asking her to keep it,
I've held on to hers too.
Like the time she played in her rock band,
at the largest school assembly.

She dedicated the song to me saying,
"To Wynn wherever you are."
she looked up at the audience and people thought she looked to heaven.
They thought I died and were relieved to see me at school the next week.

I wish I could dedicate this poem to her in front of all of you
and look somewhere distant in the audience saying,
hey gurl, this is for you.
but truth is, I know where she is, where she lives,
we just aren't friends anymore.
but I won't tell her I wrote this.
Because truth is, sometimes my soul likes to keep its little secrets.

Somethings take me longer to clean than others.
Like the bottle of body wash my first love left at my apartment,
thinking someday I would return it to him,
but instead I'd frequently wash with it
to wash him out of my mind
but his trace wasn't hard to find,
easy to recognize,
his scent was stuck to my pillow,
and I tasted him in my tears,
as I wept each night,
wondering how I could cleanse myself of everything
we had been through this past year.

Sometimes I like a mess in this ***** soul of mine.
Sometimes I like to think if I leave it there I'll be fine.
But sometimes when the mess gets too big,
I'll feel the need to clean it,
but the funny thing about a mess is,
it comes back,
the more clothes you wear,
the more food you eat,
the more promises you don't keep.
the more times you lay awake at night, unable to sleep,
drink, ****, *****, scream
wondering when you'll wake up from this dream
It looks like a hellish nightmare,
staring at the piece of you trapped in my ***** soul.
My vacuum broke, it won't pick up the dirt anymore
My heart feels sore,
brain broken dumb and numb
can't seem to clean up this mess,
get lost figuring out where I should start from.

Ouch.

I think I'll leave my room messy this week,
to reflect my inner think.
because I don't think I could make a bigger mess than all the things I ****** up with you.

but what if I don't want to be clean
if that means cleansing my soul of you.


I want to make new bad decisions and have room in my ***** soul to store them.
So every now and then I cleanse it, letting go of things stored, but paying their toll.