This is my wool cap,
This is my jacket.
These are my fingerless gloves,
My imitation Chucks.
A black leather notebook,
A pen, laptop, and cord.
Each has its own pocket,
Inside my messenger bag.
The stories I construct,
Are contained within each holder,
Each a piece of me,
Hidden safely from view.
This is my bed,
This is my desk,
This is my couch,
My clothes stacked neat in a row,
This place is my shelter,
To rest and recover,
My single shelf lined,
With bottles filed with color,
The cuddly wolf stands at my door,
A silent guardian alone,
A picture of love,
Sits in a position of honor.
This is my phone,
This is my music,
These are my books,
This is my character.
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