My Room is a Mess
My Room is a Mess
I keep stepping on poetry
books there’s a candle burning
in a vomit of mismatched socks I keep
forgetting to take my pills the medal
they gave me for the year I was sad
clanging against the wall.
Speaker playing Spotify
playlist:
“All The Feels” I’m thinking about you
never crying. There’s good, there’s good
in you, Titanic or no Titanic, Kate or no
Kate.
Trash bags: one on my bed,
one in my head, I can’t seem
to move them. There’s a lone
bracelet in front of me, it says faith.
I feel strange wearing it.
About the author: Sidney Wollmuth is technically eighteen years old, but her friends will tell you she's actually an old lady in disguise. She can be found running abnormally upright, fretting over her millions of unfinished drafts, or frolicking the aisles of Target. Her writing has been recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing competition, Rookie Mag, and Oprah Magazine. She edits for Polyphony H.S.
