Everything has its place,
neatly arranged;
tucked away on shelves;
organized by color;
categorized by shape;
placed between four walls,
behind a sturdy door.
No need for a lock,
to hide the true chaos.
For every so often,
I can’t resist the call; and
I open the door.
Then that’s where,
you can find me,
sitting on the floor,
amid the organized clutter,
that I’ve taken great steps,
trying to perfectly store.
There’s never peace of mind,
because the clutter I’ve stored,
is not mine alone to own.
It’s just disarrayed life in a rented space,
temporarily held captive,
until the rent’s no longer paid.
In time these distractions will be,
someone else’s justification to live.
But right now, here I am,
the protector of this chaos.
Never more than a few steps,
from inside of the room.
So, until the next time,
when the whispers overcome me,
all I can do is close the door.