I won’t be offended if you say its horrible. Please give me some comments to help me improve it. or what…
Why Clean Up
You say…
The floor is invisible
The table is a mess
The bed is unmade
And this house is a….
Well, a mess
What’s the purpose of cleaning?
If all you do is mess it up
I call it livable
You call it a mess
I pick up the clutter, then nonetheless
Just a week later
The floor is a mess
You scold, lecture, and stress
About the importance
About a clean floor.
The table has papers
Spread out and about
English, Math, History,
Bills, Loans, all kinds of them
You say get organized.
I say, “What’s the point”
I’ll have to get them out again
Spread them all about.
I organize them,
In folders and such
Then a week later,
I can’t find that folder
I search, and search,
For fifteen minutes and so,
If I leave them on the table
I know where they’re at
You say nonsense
I say….
You then complain
About the bed
How messy and dirty
And also unmade
I say what’s the point
When you make it
You mess it up,
Just that night,
Nearly twelve hours ago
That you made it
You say To make it look neat
Neat? Who comes into my room?
In the middle of the day
And looks at my bed
And sees whether it is made
Or not.
This is unbearable you say
This house, such a mess,
Such a sad, sad, mess.
You slink out the door
Unable to bare any more mess
Once you leave
I look around
And see my mess
I see…
The floor is invisible
The table that is a mess
My bed that is unmade
And well, I have to admit
This house is a….
A mess
And I ought to clean it
Before you come again
And tell me about my messes
In that unbearable
Poetry Form
That you call neat
