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I cannot seem to write
without rhyming.

It is not a simple matter
of timing
but has become
my mental wiring.

I find other
poets so inspiring
so deeply

But my brain
has lost the ability
to make any poetry
without playing with
Francie Lynch Oct 26
"Write, edit, re-write.
Post, edit, repost."
My finger prints are fading fast;
I thought they were here to last.
They used to linger where I'd please;
I've lost them now on laptop keys.
Adi N Sep 23
Hello cosmos,
I ask for forgiveness
for every act of compulsiveness.
Chad Young Sep 9
I have five appendages: head, arms, and legs.
More complex than oneness: what of the
six joints of every leg and arm, or the seven vertebra of the neck?
Thus, looking at the body becomes more and more complex
until I revert back to where my body evolved from a single-
celled organism, which in turn came from water.

Emotions are like appendages, there are also five simple emotions.
Looking at them react together is very complex to follow each motion.

Then, to complete the divine triangle: body, emotion, and, knowledge, which is born of unification.
Virtue are singularities of all three together.

Spirit is service,
compulsion is a virtue of youth and vitality.
It is excess of enjoyment. It knows
less limits and adheres to less stillness.
Insanity is the virtue of enjoyment that is converted
to pain: a pain for others, if not sorrow for me.

Thus, when I am continually the object of my own
insanity, it can be hidden.  But when it affects others,
it becomes mental illness.
A night of regret due to ignorance.
Fiona Jun 25
i want to stop
checking my body,
wiggling the door ****,
counting the fatalities,
searching my symptoms,
and asking for reassurance.

i want to be able to leave,
not doubting
that i turned the straightener off,
that i shut the toilet lid,
that i locked the door.

i want to be able to sleep at night
without tapping
the doorknob
to make sure it's locked,
or else someone will break in.

i don't want to
be scared
when i see the number 13,
or be unable to
wear a certain sweater
without the fear of being sick.

but instead of staying habitual
i have become avoidant.
Wanna make a deal?
Let's make a deal.
It's just one time.
Don’t do it.
Do it one more time.
Wanna make a bet?
Turn the dial to 5
Watch what happens when you don’t listen.
But you’re gonna listen.
Why wouldn’t you?
It's just one more time.
Lydeen Feb 16
I wonder what would happen,
If more people knew about how not cute OCD is.

If they knew about intrusive thoughts,
Thinking about killing yourself-

Throwing yourself in front of an amusement park ride,
Closing your eyes and walking into the street.

Stuck picking at your brain,
Ruining your day.

What would happen if...?
And knowing you shouldn't but REALLY want to.

It's not cute,
Ocd hits differently when you have the obsessive and compulsive parts.... Thoughts become enemies tbh. It gets stuck- nagging. Rip.
Lydeen Dec 2019
Kissing my wrist.
1. 2. 3
times. I should

be good for
a few hours.
Then repeat again.

Stumb- stumbling stumble
over ov ov
stumbling over over

over over over
stumbling ov over
my over my

words. Every time
I try to
speak to you.

Kiss, 2, 3.
Now I won't
accidentally hurt you.

Picking at my
skin, pinching, frowning.
Cutting each and

every bite into
a perfect cube.

Into the car.
Kiss, kiss, kiss.
Now I won't

be in another
car accident. But!
Don't forget, don't

forget. Do it
again to be
sure. You have

to or else
you'll get hurt.
Hurt your family.

Hurt someone else's
family. Break apart
a whole life.

I can count
every single calorie
I have eaten

today without even
looking at the
label. I can

taste and tell
you which artificial
sugar is in

my energy drink.
But! I only
drink the ones

with guarana extract.
It's all natural,
so at least

kinda better, right?
FREEZE! Here comes
a new thought.

What if I
suddenly ran out
into traffic, got

hit by a car,
and traumatized someone.
Or, consider, if

I went to
a theme park,
and just jumped

out in front
of a roller
coaster, horribly traumatizing

a whole train
of children. A
huge explosion of

blood and brains.
Don't do it,
don't do it,

Don't do it,
don't, don't, don't
It's a thought.

It doesn't control
you. It doesn't.
Let it go.

Kiss kiss kiss.
Kiss, 2, 3.
Kissing my wrist.
city of flips Oct 2019
speckled cityscape compulsion


it is 6:40am.
the ending credits roll on a Hannibal horror film
that I’ve seen many times.
but it’s just an old rerun, familiar deviltry,
slept through it thankfully

the kitchen window gives up a sunrise,
but it’s just an old rerun, familiar deviltry,
a streaking swath of burnt and bright,
so oft described, the color commentary
previously immortalized by better poets
than me, easy found elsewhere.

the speckled cityscape in this pre-awakened urbanity,
it is their moment, these red flashes, all about,
tall buildings chanting “stay away from me”
to you sleepy pilots, looking for a strip to safely land
in a tumbled jungled of obscene density.

still, they highlight against a river of deep, bright oranges,
burning surrounded by the most beauteous array of shades of blue,
compelled against my will to thankful write,
for gifts such as these cannot be so casually dismissed,
cannot be willfully ignored, to do so, denies our genetic commandments.

a hopeless, thankless task to ask of oneself.
the perhaps intrusive. Sunday, maybe the babies
will visit, macaroons, pre-halloween bags of candy bars,
at the ready, pre-opened by small, tall inner children for sensory testing.
Milk Duds, Heath Bars, Whopper malted *****, Hershey white chocolate,
checked by adults for safety and quality control.

all these I see, in realized eyes and whimsical musings,
in perfect silence, for the Sunday city morning
is worshiping the coming day in a church like silence,
where each patron fills in the empty sounds
with hymns of their own moving their lips
in fervent unspokeness

the sky river reflects more modestly in the East River,
for a reflection is always a second best version.
30 minutes later the real and the apparition both,
disappeared, and a palest sheer blue, white streaked sky,
just an old rerun, familiar deviltry.

why is the sun rising
is so worshipped,
for there will never be a full day of
just sunrise colorations,
but the speckled reds still
a true color, still showing,
on perpetual guard duty,
bidding adieu to its
morning lovers,
until tomorrow,

in my city of lips.

sun. oct. 20 2019
colorfulSmoke Sep 2019
Addiction comes again,
Cogitation fuels the yearner,
A soaked rag petting skin
As a bellow stokes ember.

Endorphins, tastes tripping on the tongue
Just a little,
Wet lips cracking with electric spume
For a piffling sip of ambrosia.

Want needs emptiness
When it is full of gluttony.
A ***** drop falls
rippling in the blood of energy.

Racing, flipping, falling through pages to the darker side of your emotions and it eats away at the better part of yourself until you're all but sand.

Sand left desiccated and burning
for a cold withdrawal of the tide.
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