My couch, my bed, my room; Yeah, my room… I don’t like it when people other than me are in my room. That’s why it is my room. If you want to come in and talk just tell me. We’ll talk in the living room or the kitchen even. We won’t talk in here.
I don’t have anything to hide. I’m not insecure. Yeah, it’s messy but I don’t care if you know it or not. It’s not too messy if you must know – just enough to have something to pick up off the floor everyday when I get back from school.
My bed isn’t the most comfortable, but it is home. It’s what I know. I’m what it knows. Every night it gives me dreams. That’s the most I can ask for. My couch is my accomplice in reading. Whenever I read that’s where you’ll find me. Please don’t bother me though. That would require you to come in my room which I really wouldn’t like. Nothing personal, honestly – my room is not for you though.
My room is what I know. My room is me. It is the ultimate area of personalization. A ten by fourteen foot floor in which I can fill it with whatever I want. It’s me. Don’t come in, seriously. Stop.
My room is normal. It’s nothing special, but it is where I go when I’m done with the day. It is a very special place to me only. It’s just another room, I know, but it’s my home inside my home. Why can’t you come in? I don’t know. This is my space though. It is my “home base.” I can’t be tagged “it” when I’m here. It is my tree house. No girls allowed. It is my library. No talking. It is my members only club. I am the only member.
It is my personal space where I spend much of my time. It is my personal sanctuary. My door remains closed unless I’m entering or leaving. The rest of the world does not exist when I am in here.
I believe in my room. I believe in my personal sanctuary. I believe I have the right to be defensive of my room. There is no business for you here. This is my place. My sanctuary. I believe in my room.
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