cleaning up the house
means
cleaning out the cobwebs in my emotions
means
cleaning for the first time
in a long time
means
organization
[which i love]
means
getting things out
to put them back again
means
maybe
maybe
maybe
getting rid of some things
[and that’s the most terrifying
concept and
consequence of all]
i feel as though
every thing
in my life could use a little
clean up
pick up
organization
my laptop, with its
struggle to continue on in life/
my phone, with its
constant warning of running out of storage space/
my house, with its
clutter damn near everywhere
and i don’t even know if i can find official places
for everything/
my head, with its
chaotic way of remembering everything unimportant
and forgetting damn near everything important
unless it’s told to me at least twice
what would even help
at this point?
i have a whole half of a table
open for use
but i choose
to set up my laptop as close
to the mess of the other half
as possible
i suppose i work best
in cluttered
chaos
i wish i had a head for organizing
in an empty space—
to see what could come of nothing/
to observe the puzzle pieces as they fit
perfectly
together
where once there was void
i am of the kind of mind
that gets overwhelmed with too much choice
the minute you give me parameters
the minute you give me shelves and labels
the minute you give me a bag with sections
or a dishwasher with the levels and dividers
i’m great at fitting in
more than what the average person might fit
but i feel like such a fool/square/failure
to not be able to go from nothing
to something
i always need something
to jump off from
[this poem is not just about organization]
my brain started the day
just craving sleep
it moved on to listing/spreadsheeting/
organizational breathing deep—-
the calm that comes from analytical endeavors
and i assumed that would negate the need for poetry
but my surprise rises in perpetuity
as i spit rhymes and find lines i didn’t know i
craved
with the very soul of me
i’ve expressed so much in so little time
in so very few lines
and it’s not even 9…
when
did i become a human
who
enjoys the organization of things
but still prefers
the music
of carefully crafted chaos?
[have i always been like this,
i just didn’t have the awareness
of specific neurons firing
to step back
and see my views in this
way?]
i think
the reason
i enjoy organizing books
and tangible things
for fun
is the same reason
i can’t seem
to organize
my digital
life
physicality is separate
from me
from my mind
so i have some semblance
of control
over
it
virtual
online
digital
means to an end
end up emulating
what my brain is doing
so disorganization
is the only way i
survive
(i wish
there was another
way to
thrive)
spooky music
soothes my soul
[it really does,
though i may have poem’ed about this before]
and what began
as a
‘too tired’
‘still a little stressed’
‘ugh we have to deal with all these boxes now’
kind of day
has turned into a
‘skeletons are already up’
‘it’s spooky season!’
*bopping head along with music*
*sipping [[seasonal]] iced coffee*
‘look at all these books i get to organize now!’
kind of morning
kipventures 