Christmas lights dangle, twinkling softly,
Even though it’s only mid-September.
A disheveled bed is the centerpiece
Of this lovely catastrophe that is mine.
The sketch of a boy and his elephant
Hangs proudly above my pillow.
Purple Chucks are on display in the floor,
Laces askew and one falling atop the other.
Stacks of books and CDs everywhere,
Tiny towers proclaiming their importance.
Yesterday’s outfit is now a collapsed heap
That Mom will surely complain about. Oh well.
Bits and pieces of memories blanket the wall
To your right, an open scrapbook for all who enter.
Concert tickets, cards, newspaper cut-outs, quotes,
And photographs, each with a story all its own.
Opposite the twin-sized and its poster-headboard
Is a masterpiece, black and dusted with chalky remnants.
Lyrics flow across and around, a maze of thoughts
That comply with my own. I guess
I hoped to read the writing on the wall.
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