i feel like I’m drowning
in my own things.
too many books
that i haven’t read
or paintings i haven’t done.
too many clothes to sort through
and school papers to throw out.
too many hours spent moving
among piles and places
for those piles to go
and never knowing
which things should be kept
and which can be left.
and each night i go to bed,
surrounded by an ever growing mess
which whispers behind my back,
keeping me awake
until the sun rises
and the process of sorting
begins anew.