The pillows are arranged
the chairs all un-sat in
my bedclothes pressed
as if no one has slept in them

My desk is tidy
the pens in a jar
notebooks stacked
as if I never struggle

My shelves are full
novels organized by author
the remote next to the TV
as if I never indulge

The floor is spotless,
the carpet is straight
the shoes in are rows
as if I never go anywhere

My bedroom, newly cleaned
stares at me
with wide blinds
and an open door


As if I am a stranger