I have a room.
No children, no husband or wife, no mortgage, no pets of my own,
No licence, no savings, no genital piercings, no lay-bys on lay-by.
No Air Points, no partner, no shares, no cyber currency, no full-blooded siblings.
No white-ware, no furniture, no spice rack, no fluency in any language other than English.
No frozen meat, no moisturizer, no boat, no pair of stilettos.
No I.D card, no minors in my care, no holiday home, no degree, no runway designer clothing, no plants.
No teeth in some places,
No celebrity status, no Olympic medals, no rings, no tattoos, no antiques, no abortions.
No casts, no camping equipment, no Cabbage Patch dolls, no real singing or dancing ability.
No stocks, no idea how to pump petrol, no bridesmaid’s dresses, no tool sheds, no Uber account.
No living set of parents or grandparents, no disability, no Snap chat, no Last Will and Testament.
But I know who I am.
No need for what is not necessary to me.
Yes, I have a room…
But there’s still room for plenty more.