Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Kath Milne Apr 2021
Toolboxes, pictures, clothes and more stuff
Where do I start this is gonna be tough
A bag for charity, the skip and to keep
A wall I've to climb cos it's all in a heap

Why didn't I sort it before I moved in
It's a lifetime of **** that I couldn't bin
And now the pile's grown and in disorder
I've even kept my old recorder

Its hard to decide what to throw away
So much reminds me of another day
I need to be ruthless, I have to do this
What doesn't matter and what will I miss

An old ***** box just full of old pics
Remembering that day when I was only 6  Over to the keep side, the skip pile still bare
Why is decluttering so hard, it's not fair


Another pile of clothes that don't even fit
The last time I wore it I looked like a ***
So why have I kept it, why is it still here
Now I remember and start to shed a tear

What on earth is this, a bit of old plastic
Oh yes, a souvenir when I danced the night fantastic
It looks like junk just a bit of old debris
But to me it triggers an old happy memory

I've now been rummaging here for a while   It's made me cry and it's made me smile
Over to the keep side, the skip pile still bare
Why is decluttering so hard, it's not fair
Julie Grenness Feb 2017
Decluttering was  my intention,
It was like a holiday detention,
But! I found such lots of things,
I couldn't part with anything,
Rummage and ye shall find,
More cupboards when I've got the time,
Cleaning house, not such a bore,
When decluttering is your chore........
Feedback welcome.
Jowlough  Apr 2019
Flower plower
Jowlough Apr 2019
Pass up until you have it
Wait up until you need it
Tell me the password
I’ll show you and light it up

Give me a valid reason
Inhale until you’re weezing
What are the magic words
Flunked conversations

You have the pedigree
I’ll stay up until your free
Blank revelations
Song inspiration

Pass up until you need it
Don’t rush you’ll have to save it
Tell me the password
I’ll show you and light it up.

They give you lame advices
Trippin’ the lane you’re passing
Timely decisions
They’re on a mission

Talkative boy’s on fire
He gets the double score
He does no picking
Swimming on double rivers


I’m just another option
The secondary mission
When he’s out partying
Practically speaking

Pass up until you need it
Wait up until you got it
Tell me the password
I’ll show you and fire it up

Give me a valid reason
Inhale until you’re weezing
What are those magic words
Anticipating

Stay put your inner spirits
Hit it until you miss it
What is the password
Tell me the magic words

My life is very tragic
One hundred percent logic
No fun and happy games
To feed your spirit

Show me your hidden feelings
Give me a point for living
Anticipations
And convolutions


Pass up until you say it
Wait up until you keep it
Tell me the password
I’ll show you and light it up

Give me a valid lesson
Inhale until you’re teasing
What are the magic words
Dumped conversations

Never to be belonging
Clingy from floor to ceiling
Am I assuming
This love is blooming?

I’ll take you up the mountains
Reserve a room what happens
I don’t initiate
The pathway to heavens

You may be here just wond’ring
Why are we doing nothing
I am a loser
But never a user

Now you’re showing your body
You are getting too naughty
Tell me the password
I’ll keep it then light it up


Igniting the inner senses
Decluttering all the messes
What is the password
Tell me, I’ll act it up

Pass up until you see it
Wait up until you touch it
Tell me the password
I’ll show you and fire it up
Parker Vance Feb 2021
I chore by woozy by smoking everything in sight
I chore by medicating and letting the sides affect me
crying at roadkill by owning taking up space not taking care

I burden by poetry by reading you poetry
talking too fast remembering too little
by walking alone     unsafe

I chore by panicking at white trucks and appetite suppressants I didn’t ask for
crying (always) at eight years at five years at 24 months
at the always that keeps shrinking away from me

Now I chore astoundingly
by decluttering by choring myself cleaning and painting and feeling alive alive alive!

Though touching is not a burden to you. Groping is not a burden.
No-chore kissing and hands on my ***
whenever and too much to be frank
give me my boundaries my no's

But you should know
I am not a burden a task to complete dead weight snag hitch knot Loving
me is not a chore.

I wrote in a poem once that you didn't understand about a no one that you saw as yourself.
I felt your beating heart then and knew you now it's true
I can't touch you but it's no matter.
Emily Jones  Jan 2016
Overwhelmed
Emily Jones Jan 2016
There is beauty in negative space
Between the lines of your face
The absence voidless pockets of empty space
There is peace in the decluttering of nothing
Like stillness it is sometimes needed to tip the scales towards a healthy mind.
Listlessly I find myself seeking it
The vibrations of too much clutter
Has the stutter of insecurity
Too loud
Too close
Feel cloistered in the corner
Like herded cattle trapped within the walls of society.
M e l l o Sep 2019
i started writing
as way
of decluttering
thoughts in my head,
wounds that
needs tending
and a soul
that needs mending
then someone asked me
what will happen after you heal?
maybe when the time comes
i'll gladly burn all
these
pile of papers
to
the ground
Sept. 15
*I'll insert a good quote about writing later, need to sleep.*
Keen May 2021
Today I felt different...
While I was decluttering my room and sorting my stuff (preparing my things to finally leave this apartment). Tears were flowing, again. It still pains me knowing you aren't there everyday. Knowing I can't talk to you about the random things that happened today. Knowing that you'll always support me when I told you that, " I don't feel well, I need to clean my room to clear my mind". Knowing that I  don't have you, period.
I found photographs of me, you, and us. We were happy in those tiny polariods we have. I found a lot of stuff that reminds me of you, yet I still can't let go even in those things we shared. I still want you near, hoping we'll still share this rainbow color we had. I still have those vivid memories of you, of our plans as a family together. I still want us to work, I still crave for your affirmation and attention. I still think of you a thousand times a day, I am missing you everyday. I still want you. Because I'll never found love like ours.
But, each day I have to face a difficult ending. I have to accept that we need to grow apart. I need to accept that you aren't going home to me anymore. I gotta holdback asking how are you today. I have to hold myself from coming to your place, hoping I'd see a glimpse of you even I'm outside looking like a total creep. I have to keep this random talks to myself. I have to be taster, every time I found a new recipe. I have to be me, without you anymore.

I pray someday you'll find what you need in this lifetime and if this letter crosses your path, let me know. Because I, we'll be waiting for you.

Until then, please do take care of yourself.
S
To aerate, babble and procrastinate
decluttering man cave *******
welcoming this temperate
(Billy me) idle March thirtieth
tooth house sand nineteen

eventually to accomplish
sorting thru lifetime
worth miscellaneous
papered material former
rainforest, I banish

to the shredder repurposing
once upon a time
stately majestic humongous
dignified cub billed bearish,
yet stern silent taskmasters

razed forest mongers left blemish -
fueling the roaring engines
of western civilization
paper products service
material world feeding bookish

appetite, sans (ironic
knotty twist) printed
hot off the press bulletins,
bestsellers inform boyish
wordsmith, how vast

treeless tracts hasten
global abomination, chopping
degradation, lamentation... brownish
blotches encompass inert naked,
torchered, and zapped

originally pristine realms
overrun by sawyers brutish
Paul Bunyanesque (sporting
as good) fellas carved
cleared, and cropped enormous

swaths back when bullish
intruders displaced indigenous
peoples crowing manifest destiny
as mantra to appease expansionist
predilection frenzied cultish

zero sum game to annex
unbroken wilderness promulgating
feverish gold rush to demolish
wantonly scorching Earth,

whereby present day burgeoning
population irrevocably establish
ruination ushering ominous augury
permeating mine mortal mutterings.
Patrick Kennon Aug 2019
A bowl of water, dip your hands
A bowl of rice, share
We're not going nowhere,
unless we do it as a
team

Unlearn the violence,
come on, just try it.
Let's get back to being forward
And stop being so formal
about this species, us.
Comparing who has the biggest stick, who can send the next rocket, **** all that ****
At the wall, spit, spitmask flashback VC1
Being locked in a chair was no fun
but we made it
Even sang karaoke tonight, even though my hands were shaking
Life is rakeing me in, lost in the applesauce asphalt abdomen
Abstract spells and little bells on your wallet
You wrote me a a whole book but couldnt decide what to call it
I fall face first into the worst form of myself, bottom shelf
Sometimes losing your mind is the only thing that helps
Seaweed and kelp, a vision of self, caught upside down, inside out
About to reroute down south of center mass
Manic biomass bypassing your encryption like science fiction
Find new diction, what we're wishing for is the light to come on
Bringing all the moths and beetles to make their rounds
Gentle crowns of hair, the mysteries under there
Senseless we stumble through another day decluttering everything but what matters
Some things shatter, some stay the same, choose your candle accordingly
I'll be somewhere with my spider friends, folding paper hawks for good luck

— The End —