Tidy my room? Me? Don’t be ridiculous!

My basil plant is flowering on my desk
Those graphic stems shoot up towards the sun
Discarded petals make an awful mess
Just scattered like spent cases from a gun
 
Around the base. I’ll have to clear it up
But, to be fair, the mess is the whole room
I look at it; I’d rather have a cup
Of Earl Grey tea than face impending gloom.
 
My gut convulses, pain of work to do
(The only job that’s worse is paperwork)
It penetrates my brain with stifling glue
Inanimates, collapses me, I shirk
 
The task, and daily all it does is grow
Encroaching on my space like fungal rot
A mushroom that requires atomic glow
To blast and clear this space and cut the knot
 
That grips my stomach with it’s putrid grasp.
Ridiculous, it even makes me sweat
Yet underneath my room’s unshaven mask
Is comfort, calm, productive, it’s no threat
 
And yet I still will always wait a while
And hate myself as books and papers stack
Around me in their quiet accusing piles.
 
If I’d one wish, one unique wish, I’d have the tidy knack…
 
 
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