Stuff

Why can’t I just get rid of
Half the stuff I’ve come to own?
If you peeked into my closet,
Well, you couldn’t help but groan.

I can’t fit one more hanger,
Even if I hoped and wished;
And so I iron every day,
‘Cause everything is squished.

My drawers are also cluttered;
They can barely slide and shut.
Of t-shirts, sweaters, tanks and such,
I surely have a glut.

The irony, of course, is that
Most things I do not wear.
They’re old or do not flatter,
Yet, discard them? I don’t dare!

I don’t know why I cling to them,
But I just can’t let go;
And since I do buy new things, too,
There’s constant overflow.

Perhaps I need a guru
Who can dabble in hypnosis,
Since living with this stuff
Is now resembling psychosis.

But meanwhile I cannot resist
A visit to a store,
‘Cause I know there is always room
To squeeze in one thing more.