By Ava Moga, TIWP Student

light radiates through,
hitting every angle,
whether it is warm and welcoming
or dark and shallow.
the posters on my wall hang,
watching me,
watching my desk,
where the mindless procrastination takes place,
where i spin my vinyls
and where i cry over math homework.
they watch my bed,
the milk white sheets and fluffy duvet cover,
where i rot till i can’t rot anymore
and where i fall into a deep sleep on weekends
and a restless one on weekdays.
they watch my bookshelf,
the bookshelf that is layered with volumes of every genre,
some loved, and some waiting to be worn,
a compartment of the different phases of my life
with pages attached.
and finally it watches my closet,
cycling between opened and closed,
clean and dirty,
laundry and clothes i’ll never wear,
piling up by the minute.
my room will forever be loved,
something that won’t falter.
it’s an outpouring of my brain,
my thoughts, wants, and needs,
a partition of my being.
it’s my arms, legs, face, and mind.
it’s who i am
and how i’ll forever think of myself.
in my life i will move
many times.
probably more than i could count,
but something will come with me every time,
something that was there the last time,
whether a book, a drawer, or a blanket.
it will be a piece of my room, 
a piece of my room that i won’t forget,
even with other roommates and significant other’s things 
littered throughout,
it will always remind me of my room.