I have a confession. I watch the hoarders show on A&E. I can’t help myself. It’s a morbid curiosity.
I cringe when they reveal the homes, and then I start feeling for the families of the hoarders.
Then there are the hoarders. Many of them have the same fear. Loss. They suffered a major blow in their lives and started hoarded in order to NOT lose anything else. It’s tragic. I genuinely mean that. I am not being sarcastic.
On the flip side, every time I watch an episode, I have the overwhelming urge to clean everything.
Piles and piles everywhere.
Of trash, of clothing, and other things tangible.
Piles of things that clutter the space,
And the things just keep coming.
Those that hoard, the hoarders, you see,
Have a fear of losing and loss.
They lost loved ones, suffered trauma, or
Even lost their homes,
And now they are hoarding to live.
The piles they have, they know
They can keep.
No one will ever take away.
The hoarder falls into a trap you see.
For the hoard takes center stage.
It consumes all the space, the nooks and the crannies,
And the hoarder coexists.
They start to feel shame,
Deterring those who come and visit,
For the hoard has claimed their lives.
Their freedom is gone.
The money soon follows.
Their health begins to erode.
There are those who desperately cling
To each piece of trash,
Unable to simply let go.
The hoard, to hoarder,
Hold memories a-plenty.
When the hoard has
Wholly claimed their soul.