I Cleaned My Room, Not My Mind

They told me
Clean your space.

Fold your clothes.
Open the window.

And maybe
you’ll feel better.

So I tried.
Again.

I washed the floor.
Changed the sheets.

Threw away
old papers.

Opened the curtains.
Let the light in.

It looked perfect.
For a moment.

But inside
nothing changed.

My head
still heavy.

My chest
still full.

Of things
I can’t name.

Thoughts
that don’t leave.

Worries
that don’t sleep.

I smiled
when someone knocked.

Said
“Just tidying up.”

But no one
saw the real mess.

The one
they can’t clean.

It lives
in the silence.

Between midnight
and morning.

In the mirror
when I stare too long.

They told me
fix the outside.

But they never asked
what’s broken inside.

So now,
my room is neat.

Everything
in place.

But I’m not.
Not yet.

Because healing
isn’t storage.

And peace
isn’t dusted.

I cleaned the room.
Not the mind.

And no one
noticed the difference.