Am I a Slob?

Am I A Slob?

Just because I leave my room
With all I've touched
Everywhere, bestrewn,
Upon the surfaces of everything...

(Surfaces that are no longer seen
And haven't been...
For such a long, long time!)

When someone nags me
To 'clean it up!'
I start to stutter and to … gulp!
I'd rather do most anything
Than face this chaos that
Needs to be 'cleaned'!

I beg, I cry, I plead, I whine!
I scream; I don't see why
I must clean this space
Called 'mine'!

Just because you cannot see
My semblance of order
Tumbling round my knees!

It's like buried treasure,
The 'precious jewels' kind,
When I unearth some
Clutter-laden belongings
I forgot I'd find!