Sidewalks
The fabric of my room is chalk
And I write all over sidewalks with my room
Sometimes I draw flowers, US presidents, clouds
My room is the mirror of my mind
What you see in my room and on the sidewalk is what is going on in here
What you see on the sidewalk is what you see in my room
You should’ve seen my room when I stopped feeling emotions
It smelled like no one had lived in it for a long time
the neutral linen smell of used, clean blankets
You should’ve seen my room when I was crying at in the morning,
when I thought I had nothing left
The walls haven’t shrunk like that in a long time
You should’ve seen my room when I felt like my heart was sinking to the ocean floor
I don’t know if there was more water in my heart or my cheek
I was drowning
You should’ve seen my room when I had a plan to end my life
You should’ve seen my room I mean my mind I mean my room I mean my eye
You should’ve seen my eyes
When I looked at the balcony
But you should’ve seen how clean my room was when I started therapy
No pet hair crusted in the carpet, and the space next to my bed stopped being the kitchen sink
You should’ve seen my room when my best friend came over
Video game controllers and snack bowls spilled on the ground
And for once I liked the messiness
because it was caused by good company and not my mind
You should’ve seen my room when I started therapy
Clothes picked up off the floor
My bed is made
Things folded and neat
And a flower on the sidewalk
From the chalk in my head