Decluttering

this one was from a week ago 

Mess.
Disaster Zone.
Pigsty.
All words that describe the small room that holds my belongings.
I try to spend as little time as I can in here
Even in this house.
It's not my home.
Never has been.
Never will be.
Coming here everyday, I still feel tentative and insecure
This room though
the memories it used to hold
trap me in my desperate attempt to stay in control.
maybe that's why i come home past 12
maybe that's why i run out of the house leaving everything astray
piling on top of each other
leaving hardly any floor space visible.
I want to feel like it's mine.
Give it back...