My room is a jungle, of unread books.
unfinished sketches, and photos of your smiles.
In the corner there is a fountain, where, instead of pristine water,
wild flowers still sky rocket.
There is a fantasy playground, where dreamers play
with flying horses, and create faux memories
of holding hands and subtle pecks at the cheeks.
In my room Tori Amos is singing violently, whimsically.
She shows me white horses and how to ride those
in the beach instead.
Clean up your room she said. Read the books.
Thanks Patty for the words: Jungle, Playground, Flowers, Whimsical, and Skyrocket