under the bed, the dust bunnies have started their own colony
building huts out of old candy wrappers
and they have gone to war with the spiders
fighting against their webs, so sticky sweet
on the desk, old smears of glue and streaks of marker blend
creating lumpy, skewed rainbows arcing over sticky tack residue
laughing with the half-formed drawings
bleeding colour into the white
in the closet, the monsters and the stuffed animals lurk
playing dress up with the clothes
and pushing the doors open slightly in the night
ignoring the lingering ghost of a once-hidden sexuality
on the bookshelf, titles and action figures mingle
disorganized and sneering down from on high
boasting worn spines and a perpetual layer of dust
holding old memories in their pages, their eyes
YOU ARE READING
collections of constellations and the stars || poetry collection
Poetrypoems often written at midnight, each telling its own story. an anthology of sorts. grammatically incorrect use of lowercase is an aesthetic choice and intentional. |incomplete|
