Checklist - My Room
A ragged old blue binder full of sad, sappy, or meaningful love songs.
Every single pair of shoes I have taken off in the past six days because I am too lazy to take them back to the living room and put them on the shoe rack.
Airwalk shoebox, full of boxes upon boxes of every kind of tea imaginable.
Ipod dock. Check.
Would be a check, except for how it virtually exploded last week.
So, now I just have an I-uselesspieceofmetal.
Oh well. Check.
New black binder full of sad, sappy, or meaningful love songs.
Green composition notebook full of sad, sappy, or meaningful love songs.
Unmade bed, because there’s no reason to make the bed I’m just going to sleep on it again tomorrow.
Posters of Slash, Stevie Ray, Zakk, Eddie V., and Randy Rhodes (R.I.P. Randy) .
Overly flashy wine goblet with the word “pimp” bedazzled on the side…
One. Two. Three. Four. Five guitars, one piano, two amps, one speaker, two mixing boards, nine speaker cables, and a box full of microphones.
The artist formerly known as Prince.
Not a check… But damn that would be cool!
Stuffed brown bear from Build-A-Bear Workshop in patriotic boxers that says “I Love You” when you squeeze its paw.
The bookshelf my dad built for me when I was just a kid, filled with the books my mother and grandmother used to read to me.
Fifteen belts– only three of which I actually wear.
Thirty-seven shirts– only three of which I actually wear.
Multiple blankets, because it gets cold as hell in my room!
Which is kind of an oxymoron…
Fuzzy blue, smiley face, and plaid body pillow.
Folder with all my poems.
Collection of license plates sporting–
“REDNECK” with a rebel flag background,
New York’s Broadway district,
And Marvin the Martian!
God I’m bipolar…
Every trophy or award I’ve won since I was five.
Marching band composite photo. Check.
Plastic folding chair. Check.
Random sheet music. Check.
Empty floor space. Check.
Music magazines. Check.
Glee calendar. Check.
Sitting in the middle of my bed,
Writing this poem.
Wishing you were here reading this poem over my shoulder.
Probably lying in your bed not even thinking about
Jeshua Logsdon's Other Poems
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