Writing Prompt
Writings
Writings
POEM STARTER
Write a poem about a messy room.
Whether literal or symbolic, think about what the messy room can tell us.
Writings
My mental room is cluttered,
Full of useless objects.
Little trinkets I donāt need,
Lying useless on the floor,
The dresser,
The desk.
Theyāre not hurting me,
But theyāre all justā¦
There.
So many things,
So many unnecessary things.
Theyāre all over the place,
No order,
No pattern.
It almost makes me claustrophobic.
As if all the space thatās being used
Leaves no room for me.
And the windows donāt ...
Shards of glass scattered from a mirror broken in the fight.
Necklaces spilling out of a jewlerly box knocked on the ground by a missed attack.
A chair on its side knocked over during my fall.
Blood smeared across the floor from my attemps to escape.
My body thrown on the floor once you were finished with me.
You never liked cleaning up your messes....
A room, so messy.
Unorganized.
OCD is a bitch.
Crash and burn.
āIām okay.ā
No Iām not.
āYes you are.ā
Shut the fuck up.
Night Lovell on the speakers.
CORPSE in the bass.
7xvn screams.
Stuff on the wooden floors. Bodies.
Liquid runs down the walls. Blood.
Scars dot my wrists like bracelets.
Deleting bitches like a video game.
Tell the dog go home, and he will.
Heās breathless in my bed, ocean.
...
My room was in a word, chaotic
My bed unkempt, my desk lackluster
Closet door couldnāt even shut
It was such a disaster
Shorts on the floor
Underwear on the ceiling fan
Mom was sick of my messy room
Told me āCome up with a plan.ā
āI want a plan to clean up
your messy room if you can
Because if you canāt then
you are grounded young man.ā
āAnd I want it done today!ā
āToday you say!?ā replied I...
The books were piled, stacks on the floor
Interspersed with clothes and trinkets.
Who knew what was clean?
Who knew what was dirty,
Be it books or crumpled shirts?
The bed, unmade, was unwelcoming,
The covers wrinkled, the quilt on the floor.
Was this a place for deep sleep?
Who knew what the boy dreamt
Be it lovely tales or nightmares?...
Unconventional feelings forming an infamous floordrob right next to my wardrobe.
Abandoned goals hidden under my bed.
Diminished dreams loom over me in a mound by my door, trapping me, mocking me, scolding me.
A projection of my intrusive thoughts lain in uncompleted, unorganised chaos.
A reflection of my mind strewn into reality.
Trapped within myself. No way out, just
Me.
Myself.
And I....
At home I have a messy room,
Stuff is everywhere,
Pens and pencils, paper, paints,
Adorn the floor and chair.
But looking past the mounds of things,
A system is in place,
And every thing does have a home,
A designated space.
If you take a look around,
And take a closer look,
Every thing is organised
In each and every nook....
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