My room

My room is a spectacle of confusion I have been told .
It's untidiness I feel has always been bold .
Clothes are lying on the bed , in a pell mell ,
My school bag ensured that in the morning my mother fell .
The study table is cluttered , with pens , pencils , erasers and textbooks .
and ironically you don't know , where for a pen you should look .
Most visible surfaces are coated with dust .
But no matter what , disorganisation is a must .
You may say why ?
And i'll tell you why .
Because in it's untidiness , I feel at home .
I don't want it to have the beauty of Rome .
My room is my temple , my safe haven .
only when it symbolises my mood , It feels like heaven .
On a gloomy day ,
I look at my sisters scirbbles and the gloom goes away .
When my anger is at it's height ,
all my belongings throw I might .
My room gives me the freedom to 'wear' my mood .
Over life , in my save haven often do i brood .
And once I am in , my life is good .