PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I clean my room, extra well this time. I pack my things in labeled boxes and sort and categorize to make this transition easier. Looking over it one last time it is almost like it isn't going to lack me in it, which is almost saddening. In a way I never want to leave my room, they told me one day I would grow up to be too big to stay at home, but it's hard to believe until you get there. I write notes of thanks and plan to give things away, I mean, there is no room for this many stuffed animals where I am going, seriously. Half of the stuff in my room is junk but the memories they contain make leaving them behind more tragic than my moving out. I line up my way out across the counter, counting. One for each year I have lived through, grown into being a failure. I take them all one by one. In this I plan on being successful. Finally, I am moving out.