My Space

Everyone that comes into my room tells me I need to clean it. They tell me it's messy, that they don't understand how I can spend so much time in here. But I don't understand them.

I mean sure, the cracked yellow tile and chipping white paint on the walls exposing the avocado green from when my room was not my own is not the most appealing, but I don’t mind. And yes my dresser is piled with all the random knickknacks I collect, but where else am I going to keep the things I keep from my many adventures? And yes I should put away the pile of clothes that blocks my bookshelf, but why would I? What if I finally get a chance to wear that pink dress that has been on my floor for a week from a date that never happened? Why would I clean my room when I can tell you exactly where my cats leave their favorite toys? Sure I could fix my tower of squishmallows that haven’t been reorganized since I got number 100, but why would I? Why would I when I could tell you where all my favorite ones are even though I can’t see them all?

Sure I could straighten up my jewelry boxes so they aren’t falling off the shelves, but why would I? Why would I when they are in the perfect spot for my nieces to grab when they walk in and see that hot pink Bobby Jack jewelry box full of braceletsI have been saving just for them? Sure, I could fold the dinosaur blanket that sits on my desk or move the cat scratcher from the middle of my room so it's more convenient for me, but why would I? Why would I when they are where my cats like them the best? And sure my walls aren't decorated with beautiful landscapes and traditional works of art but why should they be? Why should they when I can tell you where all 12 of my dream catchers that hang around my room are from? Why would I decorate my wall with someone else's artwork when I can put up my own instead?

When people walk into my room they see a mess but I see me. I see my adventures, my memories, my feelings, my likes and dislikes. Sure I could clean my room, but why would I?