This place is cluttered to the maximum. Here, are all of the books that I have ever read. Starting from the pretty picture book fairytales on to the uncompromisingly honest autobiography of Malcolm X, illustrated only by the beautiful-ugly truths of America. Not to forget the obligatory collegiate readings that crushed the fairytales only to help build beliefs made stronger by the tools of my own language.

On all of the floors, scattered everywhere, are the clothes that immortalize the movements of yesterday. Pleated school uniform skirts rolled up at the waist because two extra inches of leg was needed to hold the glances of schoolboys with attention deficit. How about the old FUBU, Parasuco, Pepe and Sergio Valente jeans that brought me closer to my “fly girl” hood dreams. And the sprawled out tube socks, bent into the shape of commas, punctuating all of the things unsaid in the steps taken on long walks alone with no one to speak to.

None of these walls are bare. Here, are photographs, images of things, places and people of the past blend into projected visuals of the future. Sepia toned sentiments. Grainy black and white memories. Time digitally enhanced, pictures of the present. They are all in here. Plus, on nails hang frames, with empty glass in between, that reflect how the light bounces off of the future in my pupils while I hang them up.

But, the walls could use a good scrubbing. Here, are the trials, fingerprints of visitors I shouldn’t have invited in, others who just intruded and those who were initially welcomed but stayed too damn long.

I should clean up soon. It is so crowded in here. My memories keep colliding with my dreams. Thoughts of reality, rigid and despondent, badger the delicate whims of intuitive notions.

The boundaries inside here are blurring, the conscious constantly attempts to gentrify the subconscious with its constructed condominiums of confusion. These steel structures that house only the decadent wealthy thoughts, and evict the humble tenants.

The landscape of my mind is attacked on the regular.

If I clean up in here, I will be able to think clearer. Maybe, then I will have some people over. Just for conversation, no drinks.

I’ll start by cleaning my windows. There, that’s good. I can see much better now.

-Janine