The unassembled furniture is causing me great stress

There's a few unpacked furniture,
That lie in my living room,
Waiting for me to assemble
and turn the room where I sleep,
into a bedroom, a place for rest
and refuge.

They shame me, for not being better,
For lack of discipline,
and deep within me the great fear
of not knowing, of failing
of the self and the furniture, the unraveling,
and remind me, get to us, you need to
we stop you from doing anything else
why won't you just take a few short hours
and finish the work,
but I fear
I might end up deeper
in the morass,
unknowing, uncertain, confused
on where to go
and what to do.

They cause me stress,
Those pieces of wood
Lying there all over
Unwrapped and unused,
I'm beckoned, invited
not seduced, but rather coaxed
to put some effort
into become a real grown man
who can assemble the flat-pak
furniture
all on their own.