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I try to speak, and my tongue tries to run,
and tends to trip when strong words come.

The rhythm and pace of his steps taste
like sweet songs that almost land with grace—
into your ears. But hopefully, you hear
the plopping of boots that my tongue tied loose.

Even when he trips and falls,
know that his words still risk it all.

When his dance becomes daring,
and his stutter turns to swearing,
his beat becomes apparent—

because no words, and no walk,
no pucker nor path
could portray the way my tongue trips up
taking to you at last.
and i don't want to be the moon
i want to be a star
how they all are dead
and yet they spark
and spark so big
and light so bright
and all because a tiny hydrogen
decides to collide
which one would you like to be ? stars or moon?
It's so hard to stand,
firmly on your own two feet.
When you're pushed and shoved,
knocked completely off balance,
by every person you meet.
when
you
look
into
the
eyes
of
the
green monster
with
bloodshot eyes
and
a whiskey smile
and
it
is
only a reflection of me
it’s been a while
since I wrote something—
something to name
the numbness in me.

I haven’t gotten better,
but I haven’t gotten worse.
days blend into each other,
work blurs into static,
time marches on.

I don’t feel a thing—
or maybe
I feel everything.

a numb little mouse,
trapped in my room,
I wake up fine,
then spend the day
trying not to fall apart.

a text from a friend—
and I smile,
like maybe the day
won’t drown me after all.

but then night comes.
I stare at the moon
and wonder:

what is this feeling
boiling inside me?

emotions—so fragile,
spinning like yin and yang
but blurred,
lost.

and still, I wonder:
why is it
so empty
inside?
I haven't written anything in a while and this is the first thing that my hands wrote during this fog.
One
Two
Three

One
Two
Three

One
One
One...

Oh
See
Dee

O
C
D

­One
Two
Three

Count
The
Tiles

Pick
Your
Cuticles

twitch
Twitch
TWITCH

tick
Tick
T­ICK

too
loud
Too

Loud
TOO
LOUD

Stop!
Stop!
Stop!

Intrusive
Th­oughts...
They're

way
too
loud...

They
Control
Me

One
Two
Thre­e

One
Two
Three

Count
With
Me

Cracks
and
Imperfections

Count
­With
Me

O
C
D
I guess consider this a part two to the first poem I ever wrote on here, which was about seven. I've moved on from seven to three since then.
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