My Room

Okay. So I share a bed room with my little sister, Corinne.
Our room is supposed to reflect us.
It's purple--a color we both agreed with.
There are pictures hanging up.
A LOT of pictures.
The day we moved, my mom said, and I quote,
["I can't wait to get out of here; no one will be in my stuff, and I wont be in anyone else's. Trust me"]
So, can anyone tell me,
Why does she care if my room is a mess?
It's Corinne's puzzle pieces and her stuffed animals.
I've got some books and paper's across the floor,
and then there are two piles of clothes littering the floor.
But not enough crap to call it a mess.
My aunt is reprimanding me.
My grandma is nagging me.
Ditto with my mom.
Shut up, people;
so much for staying out of my stuff.
My mom looks through my IMs, no matter how many password locks I have everywhere.
So that's not really staying out of my stuff.
It's snooping.
So...
My room is a mess.
But it reflects me.
Because I'm a mess; emotionally, fashionably, and everything.
So I can be a mess if I wanna.
Get it through your thick, greasy, skulls.
Thanks.