Waiting for the family

A single room encapsulates, enshrines my life.
Within these walls I seem to have accumulated
nothing of any importance.
Where is it all ?
Where am I?
Who brings these puzzles, these books?
There's nothing here that tells my story,
They say I can bring my own furniture,
so it looks more familiar you see; more like home for a start.
But what about me? About my hardships, my hard won respect,
my hardening heart?
My worry does not concern those who scurry past,
intent on caring. Sharing some time with me
is not for now.
If I seem distant, distracted; I am
distracted by the attractions.
Apparently, there's a list on the wall down the hall
which dictates what's on, to anyone who'll listen.
Cards, films, skittles, anything that belittles
intelligence. Well, it has to you see, we're all different
and negligence mustn't come into it.
I must admit though, between you and me,
I enjoyed the films; brought back memories they did,
opened up the treasuries of long ago.
But I'm not used to them you see, I'm used to being alone;
used to my own company.
Attractions? Distractions that's all they are,
they only serve their purpose; to keep the door ajar
on life.