A Room Of My Own

A Room Of My Own short poem

Photo by BaileyRaeWeaver

The dresser front is like a waterfall
with a vibrant tangle of scarves
that stumble out and down.
Bed sheets rough-house with pillows.
and a spread is spread but not on the bed.
There are yesterday’s pants
cavorting with last week’s socks and
a troupe of sneakers, flip flops, and shoes
traipse around wishing to trip me.
Newspapers, books and paper with lines
piled like a cantilevered disaster
three glasses line up colored
with one quarter inch of whatever.
Welcome to my nest.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Eileen Herbert Hugo

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
I think I suffer from ADD It is ok though because I get somethings done in lots of places but nothing finished yet I guess that is the bad part
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of
avatar
wpDiscuz

My Only Friend

My Only Friend short poem

Am I Alive, or am I dead? Is this all just a dream inside my head? I feel like I’m losing my grip. Quick say something, anything before I slip. Nightmares slowly creeping. Has he finally come to do the

From My Journals ‘love’

From My Journals love short poem

The very essence of love is uncertain, A relentless thumping of the heart. I must speak to you by such means as they are within my reach. He pierces my soul driving me into madness. I am half agony, half

My Friend Crystal

My Friend Crystal long poem

I am the women that hasn’t been able to lose all her baby weight. I am the dad that works two jobs and always gets home late. I am the high school cheerleader trying to be someone shes not. I

From My Journals ‘anxiety’

From My Journals anxiety prose poem

The moon awaits eagerly in the same pedestal it ignited my passion. What lips, my lips have kissed, are long forgotten. The memories easily quickened as a few puddles along the way I voluntarily stepped in. What arms have lain

From My Journals ‘cinnamon’

From My Journals cinnamon prose poem

He saw things in a way that others did not, he was the only one that saw my dreams differently, I became beautiful with the light of his smiling eyes. There my soul drifted render in angle to give the