1.  Inability to throw away possessions


ive never been able to get rid of the bracelet you gave me. my cat broke it the first week i had it, but something about throwing it away wraps my wrist with a sensation of betrayal- like im throwing away your company with it. the string still sits on my nightstand.


2. Severe anxiety when attempting to discard items


even though i’ve never worn them, your jackets and shirts outline my bedroom- curtains that block the clarity of what once was with a dressed up version of you i’ve never been able to tear down.

3. Great difficulty categorizing or organizing possessions


it was when i began to leave my thank you notes beside screws, and love letters near lighters, that i realized i’d forgotten how to feel the differences between them.

4. Indecision about what to keep or where to put things


disregarding the good because of the bad feels like an admission of defeat to a ruler i never knew was in charge. when i pick up the way you held my hand, i dont mean to put down the way you wrapped yours around my neck- but i only have one drawer and its not big enough for the two of them.

5. Distress, such as feeling overwhelmed or embarrassed by possessions


when i offer an apology, it is because the amount of landlords that have evicted me for having too much inside myself is more than i ever learned to count. im afraid that i will never stop living in someone else's home, loving in someone else's heart, before i learn to build my own.

6. Suspicion of other people touching items


each day feels a little lighter- as though someone is removing a stone from a bag i didn’t realize i had been forced to carry. ive yet to understand if this ease is unwelcome.

7. Obsessive thoughts and actions: fear of running out of an item or of needing it in the future; checking the trash for accidentally discarded objects


you’ve not read a book in ten years. your novel still lays on my nightstand.

8. Functional impairments, including loss of living space, social isolation, family or marital discord, financial difficulties, health hazards


i havent been able to bring another person to visit the garden i spent years tending to. when the water stopped coming in, i’d no choice but to begin withering- and i’d rather go peacefully than to be let down again because i trusted you to end the drought.

i feel like there is so much love left
when people leave us
and we have no idea what to do with them
so we keep them in boxes,
we store them in drawers
and sometimes,
we wear them on cold nights
when no one is watching.

all around us we make sure
we live in a place
with no trace of what has been
yet every closet is filled with the bones
of a dead love
and every corner is a reminder
of where we got lost

we hide the things they left behind,
we create mausoleums out of our rooms
and call it “moving on”

even my room is haunted
with his hasty departure
his old sweatshirt,
his silk necktie,
and the ocean blue summer dress he gave me
gather dust as a relic of a past
i have exhibited in the walls
of my broken heart

i buy cigarettes
and try to remember the taste of
his nicotine mouth
i study my face in the mirror
and try to remember the look of the girl
he fell in love with
i stay in the nights longer
i skip all the cracks in the pavement
i keep wishing he come back

one day i woke up
in a cold bathroom floor
filled with my tears and *****
that’s when I knew
where all the leftover love goes
it seeds hatred
then grows into despair
and finally bears the fruit of grief

there is no reasoning with a broken heart
only grief

and grief is the greatest leftover love there is
it spills all over
and seals your chest tight
until you feel no fight
and no other

so i waited and wasted away
until my ribs cracked
under the pressure of all the grief flowing out

and one day
i realized
i left one of his jackets
in my old apartment abroad
i couldn’t bring it any longer
my luggage is filled with so many new things
and his was a heavy garment
i just couldn’t carry anymore.

I've gotta get you out my heart in time for spring
I Know I said that I've moved on but I've just been faking to make it honestly
Its a mess in here, shattered pieces everywhere that needs to get cleaned
Unwanted memories cover these walls of you and me
Causing more bad than good feelings from what used to be
I've been lying and taking my sweet time with reodering everything...
So many memories that need to go, to keep a healthy soul but it's so hard when the heart just won't let go, I think I'm turning cold...
It's not that I want to because I want to be ready for when love comes around again
It's just that I thought you and I would always remain the best of friends
It's such a strange thing, these feelings of you I've been hoarding, leaving no room for something new
and spring is right around the corner so I've got to rid myself of you
It's not something I want to do but it something I have to
Though I've already lost you I don't want to lose my mind too
I've gotta get you out my heart in time for spring...

I am a hoarder
You may not see it at first sight.
My clothes, pressed and wrinkle-free
My shoes, freshly polished
Not a single hair misplaced
but I am a hoarder
My room, though, is spotless
Not a book out of place
Every little thing in its own little case
but I am a hoarder
No, I do not collect used up shoes and stack them in a pile
nor do I have a hard time throwing out broken down furniture
Nothing around me sitting for more than awhile
No, I am a special kind of hoarder
The lack of mess you see on the outside
has been compensated by the mess I sleep in every night
I collect dust-filled memories and broken down dreams
some, too broken to be recognised
I stack expectation upon shattered expectation in a pile too high for me to move without it falling
I have tried countless of times to move out the pieces of what used to be plans and pictures of the future,
The storybook fairytale love stories have lost its luster,
now they sit next to overused ideas I still try to play once in a while,
but it seems to get stuck on repeat all the time,
and I try to explain that hoarding isn't just on the outside, but something worse when it's within
The inability to let go of the past, so I keep them hidden
and no one would notice, not one bit what I am
I am a hoarder
of the worst kind
I do not hoard things,
but something far much more unkind
Pages upon pages of sleepless nights
trying to make my burnt up mind and second-hand run down heart to work alright,
Cause I know I've tossed too many out on the bed
to even try to count how many are still left unread,
I am a hoarder
compulsive, emotional, restless.
and much more than I'm willing to confess.