Cleaning my Room

Mom comes in my room, "Are you serious? Clean this up and turn down that fucking music!"
I look her dead in the eye,
"Mom, don't you know those cloths all around my room are my unorganized thoughts?Those empty bottles are for my coming up feelings to be bottled inside of,
and that trash...
oh, that trash that hasn't been taken out since last Tuesday?
Those are all the the things i worry or have doubts about overflowing
so heavy now i cant lift them up out of the bin.
All those papers are hate and critic letters i've sent to myself, and
yeah, i pick them up, but only to read them until i feel like shit again.
Oh, and mom, that FUCKING MUSIC you complain about all the time
is the maze i get lost in for hours apon hours.
That music distracts me from all these things and keeps me sane.
You know i could clean it up for you, but its easier to go sleep outside
then solve my problems. That doesn't make me lazy MOM,
that makes me tired of my mind!
so think about that the next time you tell me to clean my room ok?"