Time to Rhyme

I live in a tiny room,
A room that’s really not
Sufficient to accommodate
The tons of stuff I’ve got.

I straighten, sort, and throw away,
But still my things don’t fit,
And, no matter what I need,
I can not locate it.

Were I to be a Buddist monk
I would fit here just great,
For Buddist monks live austere lives.
Not much accumulates.

But no, not me, I’m not austere.
I’m sure, without a doubt,
That I’ve not got one single thing
That I could live without.

And so I try to organize.
And now I’ve done so, see,
I decided each thing’s proper place
Is just where it might be.

Cleaning by semantics is
A very pleasant chore
(Although it doesn’t help me find
The stuff I’m looking for!)