If your heart were a room;

I feel as if i'd be a ridiculous article of clothing.

a funny hat from a friend,

an utterly repulsive sweater from a family remember.

something that you'd keep around, but never use.

maybe i'd be a book.

some peice of literature,

that you've read once,

but will never even glace at again.

sitting alone;

dwelling on this vacant bookshelf.

collecting dust,

even though i'm allergic..

how I long to be a bed,

a chair,

a mirror.

anything that you'd use daily,

or even look at.

but it's okay,

I don't mind being that book.

because i'm content with being any part of that room.

anything for love