A hoarders Home Edited

 Pile on , pile on--

I heap, I move, I stack.

more and more I gather,

saving and crying 

all the while.

no room to tidy,

no room to store, 

yet still,

I gather more--

like squirrel storing for a winter 

that will never come.

I keep storing. 

come clean, come rearrange

move one pile here, 

another there--

Only to bring it back again.

My mountain rises,

year by year.

I sit atop a cluttered throne,

looking down, 

blaming this mess 

On anyone but my own. 

"Throw it away!" you say.

I say, "no way,"

And cry forevermore.

Clinging to ever drop of jumble,

In this chaos I make my home.

Trying my best to clear away--

But never throwing anything out,

Just saving,

 Pretending.

That I am okay.   

By: Bernice Bowling