The state of my mind
Is the state of my room:
Stuff scattered everywhere
Stepping spaces are few.
If a stranger would visit,
They would just be confused
To be found in my wonderful
Mess of a room,
But I know where to find
Everything that I need;
If I need it I find it
I'm too tired to clean.
I'm not sure if I like it
Or if it's healthy to think
In my sea of miscellaneous,
Unorganized things.
YOU ARE READING
Unsent Letters
PoetryUnsent Letters. We all have them. They're that one thing that we keep from the world, That one side of us that we never let anyone see, Those few words that we wish we could say These are a collection of poems, written to be letters Just a few more...
