cleaning up my room

by shira

there was one old song
whose spinning i would pray to
i'd face my record player
in my dusty, curtained room

i tried to rearrange my bed
and get rid of all the trash
that my child-hooded head
thought up to hide and leave behind

i rubbed off all the crayon
proclaiming my best friends on book ends
and blew out sickly wicks
i lit to burn all of my secrets

my hands and feet now touch a carpet
that's been replaced because of dirt
of when i neglected to notice
i wasn't always so pristine

not entertaining any child
who'd step foot in sleeping quarters
where its master
dreamt of horses
running off of grazing cliffs