My room is a curious thing
Not alive
But close enough
To where only I
am welcomed
Into its peculiar embrace
The walls are a warm
peanut butter
Hiding humming pixies of my
dreams that
Steal away socks
some of which can be found
Under cool ruffled sheets
Books scatter delicately
Their wings of hidden
magic
Fluttering quietly around my
well worn floor
Disappearing only to reappear
Some other cluttered place
Pages worn and yellow
but loved
Then there's a bed
My bed
Where I almost always rule
A squeaky mattress laughing
hoarsely as I erase
a girls eyebrow
for the seventeenth time
A deluge of pillows
that are my squishy throne
Holding my infinitesimal
dreams as I ponder the secrets of those
Weird aliens who dare to
walk outside
My kingdom
And my knicknacks
Chattering across a tight spaced universe
Speaking in foreign tongues of their
travels from mystical
places
Telling me secrets
as I sift through
much used colored pencils
But sticky hands or stern commands
open that ever stoic door
and the magic
is lost
The whispers stop
The pixies freeze
My humorous mattress
Holds its breath
They always leave
though
Eventually
and after a hesitant wait
The magic sparks again
And we breath a sigh of relief
My room is a curious thing
Not alive
But close enough
To where only I
am welcomed
Into its peculiar embrace
Oh, and then there's the closet...
**Ash**
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