My room, my personal escape;
where I can be true to myself-
no pressure from peers, family, or society.
Somewhere I can rush away from the stress of this so called life.
Where the world can’t touch me-
no matter how hard it tries.
I walk into my cluttered territory,
Stumbling over abandoned clothes:
my blazing blue backpack,
familiar blankets that warm my chilled body in the winter.
The mess is abundant, but I can find
My parents call it pathetic,
I call it talent; keeps my searching skills fresh.
After lengthy days at school and practice,
I retreat to my hive, crawl into my warm comforting bed,
Knowing it will always be there when I need it most.
I slowly meander out of my bedding covered nest
making my way to morning practice.
I listen to calming country on rough days.
I engulf myself in a good book,
temporarily unaware of my own reality.
Call it what you desire,
but it’s my comfort and safety zone.
A place to be alone, to clear my head;
a place to mourn and regroup,
a place to think and discover who I am.