#hoarding
wanting each thing in the home to shift on-the-fly
choosing not to have heavy burdensome hardware
having heavy stuff makes it seem all too "boomer"
hoarding all that "boomer" crud can so weigh you down
Apr 19
Apr 19, 2026 at 11:21 PM UTC
You say the word hoarder
You say it's just stuff
But objects can be tied to memory
It makes downsizing tough.
And yeah, I know it's an old tshirt
And I know it doesn't fit
But the last time I wore it
Life was good, everything clicked.
And I'm aware it's just a cookie jar,
And maybe I don't like sweets
But that was my grandmothers-
Having it on the counter gives my soul relief.
So we judge messy houses
Or even just the ones with clutter,
Never asking how someone's brain works
Just expecting them to be better.
Materialism killed community.
"Don't buy any more things"
But what if you didn't buy them?
Just an emotional collector-
Value no one sees.
Just a giant cast iron skillet
Collecting dust on the stove
You ever wonder who cooked meals in that? Or did you just decide it's got to go?
It's just an old cologne bottle-
There's barely any left
You think it's taking up space
But they stopped making grandpa's scent.
I could go on and on,
Listing examples for days
But sometimes in these objects
That's where a persons memory stays.
We attach meaning to items,
And it doesn't always make sense
But maybe we could talk about it
Before deciding a persons a mess.
Oct 15, 2025
Oct 15, 2025 at 2:07 AM UTC
To be cluttered is to be free,
To be free,
Truly free,
Is to stare into the stark blues and whites of the sky
and just for a second
imagine the infinite abyss beyond.
Your mind wanders and suddenly you’re there;
Sitting, floating in the abyss,
swirling your paint brush onto that infinite canvas
Filling the empty space with
Dreams
Love
All the wonderful feelings that you keep inside are splashed into the void
Making clutter.
Apr 8, 2025
Apr 8, 2025 at 12:42 PM UTC
trot it all out two tottering opposites
duelling sets of things we ought think
two angers we must take like a ***** draught
and we are distractible
one feeding of fear to link us all
and we are made quite yielding
i feel willing now to rush upon death just to get the it over with
and the dragons can take the hoard
and disable its currency
a real species stopper
well done
Mar 27, 2025
Mar 27, 2025 at 10:28 AM UTC
I should stop this fruitless job
of keeping obsolete little things
that never did
anything good for me.
Maybe i should start
by unfolding old unsent letters
bare from the enthusiasm i used to
envelope them in.
Then, i'll throw away pretty glass bottles,
emptied by their contents
of sweet perfumes and wild dreams.
Pick up plastic beads ,
loose from the strings tied
by friendships
i used to wrap around my wrists.
I should discard useless trinkets,
cute nothings and dead mementos.
Declutter and make room-
for other things ,
like self-appreciation,
growth,love
and
maybe a pen
or two.
Nov 7, 2020
Nov 7, 2020 at 4:41 PM UTC
i've kept every
sticky note,
letter,
mindless, simple gift
ever given to me by a friend.
every memory,
from valentine's day cards to ticket stubs.
i'm a hoarder, but of a very specific breed:
a scrapbook's worth of paper with no home and no purpose.
more akin to an archivist for no one.
i started crying yesterday
because i couldn't find my
memory box,
the shoebox i've stuffed all of my
sentimental nothing into.
i still can't find it.
i'm afraid someone threw it away.
(the box is full of letters and notes from my friends, starting from 8th grade. i go off to college in a week.)
but if that someone saw it as trash, they were probably right.
i have old letters from people i haven't talked to in years, that hate me now,
all crammed in this little shoebox
because i could never bring myself to throw them away.
my own personal museum of all the relationships i've let die of starvation,
hung taxidermic and pointless
within the walls of my heart and
cluttering the floors of my room.
exhibit a:
when i broke up with my first girlfriend,
i opened my memory box and burned the letters she'd given me.
but,
i went through them first
so i could keep the ones i couldn't bear to get rid of.
i'm a hoarder. i latch onto every crumb of affection i've ever been given and never throw it away.
wouldn't you?
exhibit b:
i was an angry child
i am an angry adult
i have spent my life roaming the desert of a lonely god,
and finding people willing to love me is a long and empty walk from one
oasis to another,
with nothing to show for it
but a shrine made up of
immortal-dead remnants of
every person i've ever known.
i have been alone before
and i never know if i'll be alone again.
experience hath granted me the wisdom
to hold onto, dig my claws into what is not guaranteed.
so yes, i am a hoarder,
and, exhibit c:
one day i will die alone
surrounded by garbage and words that some person out in the world doesn't even remember writing,
and i won't be able to bring it with me
into the black abyss of wherever else
and they will clean out my house
after i am dead
and throw it all away.
but for now
i'll keep looking for my memory box,
because it's gotta be around here somewhere.
i really do hope
it's around here somewhere.
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 2:04 AM UTC
Nothing will ever go completely right. As long as there will always be those who wants to hoard things for themselves even though, aware they will never live forever.
As long as there will always be those who are not ready to live right and reasonably...
What's the point?
Reasonably!
Hoarding!
Foolishly!
All leads to the den of obliteration.
Perplexed?
Let's give up!
What if we give down?
What's it about surrender!
What's it about never surrender?
No one is, an exception.
There is neither a thing I can hardly do, except to right the wrongs of the mind with my words.
Words inscribing the wrongs and beauty of the soul in a pinchbeck, puny age, is like a melodious masterpiece of a violin in a noisy throng, rarely a soul offers any attention.
A token of my contribution.
Smiles.. I hope that be enough. Though "bitter Smiles" cause nothing is ever enough..
Enough!
Cheers..
Verily we are spend thrifts by nature we exhausts everything. And we! eventually gets exhausted.
Up 4am.
Having aftermath dinner.
With the most tremendous of guests, comforting yet tormenting, thoughts and Memories.
Dining on meals and wines of, unfathomable class and brand.
With the most tranquiling of musics, echos of emptiness.
Guarded by The magnificent majestic retinue, lugubrious phantoms.
Encompassed by The most absorbing and cimmerian paintings, mystical darkness.
"In a stead formed yet unformed by ether, the mind".
May 12, 2020
May 12, 2020 at 5:11 PM UTC
they are selling sunshine
on these ***** streets
offering escape
at bus stops
beyond the ride home
with hoarding speak
dreams, new worlds
new life, new you
away from this ****** existence
we all perceive
step into
the advertiser's dream
Feb 5, 2020
Feb 5, 2020 at 7:15 PM UTC
There once was a tiny dragon,
No larger than the palm of my hand.
She burned no village, stole no princess,
Her name not spoken in fear throughout the land.
She hoarded not gold, not jewels,
Cared not for such frivolous things.
It was memories she kept in her miniscule cave
She guarded with flickering fire and scrap wings.
I went to her cave in the mountains.
Stumbled on it, by mistake;
As I lay down my head at the roots of a tree,
By an obscure and secluded lake.
She emerged in her miniature splendour,
From beneath a nearby rock.
She let out a yawn of fire;
And I froze: in awe, in shock.
She grinned a needlepoint grin,
Beckoned with one curved claw
Into her miniscule cave,
I followed: in shock, in awe.
I peered through the half-hidden opening,
Only inches larger than my head.
The dragon spoke soft but thunderous,
And this is what was said:
“This is my hoard, young human.
This is all I hold dear in the world.”
And she handed to me a birthday card -
Some edges singed, some curled.
It had writing in a swirling foreign script
That seemed to be etched, not written.
“This is the love of my first ever crush,
In the days when we were still smitten.”
“Is this all?” I scoffed, “Just pieces of paper,
and wrappers and old useless things?”
Her doll-sized body began to shudder
With a judder of claws and a flutter of wings.
No larger than my littlest finger,
She was a smaller version of herself;
But still I froze as she perched on my nose,
To her, a sizeable shelf.
“You hold no value to memories?
Then why don’t you leave yours behind?
Since they strike you as being so useless,
I’m certain you wouldn’t mind.”
Now all my memories are scraps,
Shadows of what they once were.
I wonder if she kept them somewhere,
In that diminutive cave with her.
Notes from a wife I think I had:
About the shopping, the kids? The car?
A card from my parents, a gift from a friend,
A reason for this faint lip scar.
I try to keep letters, tickets, receipts,
Compulsively, I feel I must.
But whenever I reach for that link to my past,
It is nothing but ash, but dust.
Sep 19, 2019
Sep 19, 2019 at 4:37 PM UTC
Some homes don't let go of things
And their floors become unclear
Behind their blinds
It's hard to find
But the reason's always fear
Closets full of little things
A sweet sentimental Salve
Various keys
To Memories
Rather re-lived than had
kitchens gathered up with things
As if clutched in jaws most grim
It's all about
Not running out
False anticipation
Bedrooms full of silent things
Like a promise never kept
The sheepless wool
That's ment to cull
The sight from dreams once dreamt
Jun 2, 2019
Jun 2, 2019 at 4:10 AM UTC
I’m a hoarder
I keep letters of sorrow and happiness,
Getting high off of borrowed moments from the past that I know won’t last.
My tolerance will grow,
And I won’t get the same high that I now know.
But I keep them anyway, all the momentos from my childhood that cling on to the last hope I carry in my heart from times that were better.
Letter by letter I read them and try not to realize what I’ve lost,
But instead realize what I had.
And even though it’s not the same as it was before the memories bring a smile to my face that I try to keep as long as I can before it melts into a much more depressed state.
Because you can’t think about what you’ve had before without realizing what you lost as well, they’re hand in hand.
I don’t want to be a hoarder anymore.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 8:43 PM UTC
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.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 12:14 PM UTC
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.
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 3:55 AM UTC
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...
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 10:09 AM UTC
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.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 11:40 AM UTC
Leave then,
but leave them behind
You say,
Wrapping your arms around
the waste, protecting
a pile of photographs
The weight would
break my body
I say,
Turning my back to
this Burden you’ve built
on the floor of our house
You’re hoarding memories,
but you do not ask Me
To stay,
Searching through the pile
for a shadow. The floor creaks.
If you move it may crumble.
(Can you still breathe?
)
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 1:04 PM UTC