The Nature of a Home

It's possible to have an organized mess
knowing that everything has its proper place,
but not always putting things away.
It's my room, my home –
I'm comfortable as long as I can walk
among the rabble on the floor.

Hair spiders and dust bunnies own my floor;
they grow and reproduce, it's such a mess!
Sometimes it's so bad I'm afraid to walk
through to my bed. They bite my feet, take over the place!
Then I know it's time to show them this is MY home.
I vacuum, and they go away.

Sometimes I think, "If I could find a way
to get new carpeting for this floor
this room would feel so much more like home!"
I'd like to have more seating, but the mess
of furniture just can't fit in this small place.
I think too much. Maybe I need a walk.

Down the institutional hall, the stairs, and out to the sidewalk
arguing with myself that I'm not running away
from always being the one to clean this place.
Crumbs constantly on the counters, filthy floors –
I'm not paid to clean my roommates' mess,
I shouldn't have to be a maid in my own home!

Forty-some minutes later, I head home.
Spent from curses laid out on the air, I walk
more slowly. I know the messy
lack of communication will not easily go away.
Picking up textbooks, pens, and food bits from the floor
that aren't mine, as I walk back inside this place.

Still, despite my roommates this is more than just a place
to live. It really has become my home.
I'll miss it soon, even the dusty, spattered floors.
Picturing the day I have to walk,
cars laden with all my stuff, away
from this room I've lived in for two years...I see myself a mess.

Everywhere I live there's "organized" messes on the floors.
Home can be any place
where it's hard to walk away.