You said I may as well
Be in jail
Because I spend
So long in my room.

I didn't go outside today
You said at least
Prisoners go outside
For fresh air once
A day.

Well sure,
I'll be a prisoner,
If you'd like.
I practically am.

This house is a prison
I'm monitored
Asked to work
Do this
Do that
If the things I do
Are "nothing" to you
Or not up to your standard
Of being worthy
Then I'm punished.

My room is my cell
It's my space
I've personalized it
I've made it mine
It feels safe
It's my choice
To spend time here.

But you still barge in
Even when the door's closed
You still demand things
You judge how I've made it
The way things look
The state its in
My own touches.
You prove it's not mine
By violating it.

Sure,
I could go outside.
But that's only
A larger
More diverse prison
Where I'm judged further
By the guards of society
I have to be alert
So I'm not abused
Or harassed
By fellow inmates.

Thanks for the metaphor,
Mother
But it doesn't matter.

I'm content
Being confined
In my cell.

l.v.s

lend me other rooms
leave my mind extending
willingly i take
but consciously i'm fading

such charming colour every bloom*
richly decorating the room
a Grecian vase held an array
spring's loveliest hues did display

the eye captured by flowers
profuse each ones gorgeous powers
of orange and white highlighting shay
with olive green leaf midst the lay

portraying an artistic glory
petals of impressionist's story
the painter scented beauty at play
applying the tones of May

such charming colour every bloom
*on applying the tones of May

i pull up my pants -

leg, leg, zipper,
buckle
.

the room heaves with me ,
a breath released
and a mind
unclear :
.

i don't know if
he made me bleed,

i don't know if he
even
would .
.
.

the sky looks yellow
as he walks me home,
but it's not:

it's blue
and the wind stings my
cheeks
.

All of my dishes, stacked in my room
Am I a slob? Please don't assume.
Clothes—whether *****, clean, or worn—
I know the difference, though they're strewn.

Twinkling lights strung overhead
Match the lamp beside my bed.
With dust my dresser is adorned,
And my favorite chair is red.

I see the beauty in the mess;
Why do you cry in distress?
Mom, I like to live like this.
And I have no one to impress.

How much time did I spend?
Sitting on the bed. Throwing darts. Reading books.
or rather, how much time did I waste?
And more importantly, how much do I have left?