Four walls
washed in white,
My first year of
college
A dull dorm
room.
Spacious
compared to other rooms,
Filled with
laughter and fun
A cool roommate.
The overhead
light
Makes the room
feel like a “prison”,
Her words not
mine.
The windows
don’t help,
They enhance the
idea of imprisonment,
Both of our
lamps diminish the idea.
Four walls
washed in white,
The color of our
personalities
Shape the room
and make it better.
My wall has a
few poems made by me,
A bunch of
yellow sticky notes
Filled with
random music lyrics
Written by my
roommate.
Her wall has a
few movie posters,
Family pictures
adorn her side,
The room no
longer feels like a prison,
It has become our second home.
It has become our second home.
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