She just can't come to terms with the steps,
To her chest of drawers,
To her laundry basket,
To her desk and bookshelf.
Her bed is a repository for her life's detritus,
A dirty sock,
Numerous books,
Pencils, pens, a teddy or two.
And more than one pair of slept-in pyjamas.
She lies amidst the myriad of knick-knacks,
Torn and scrunched paper and discarded clothing.
The mental challenge of coming up with a plan,
Deciding just where to begin,
To tidy this mess,
Of her own making,
Is TOO much.
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