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how am i to breathe?
without knowing every breath
and every second that comes with
the one after the next
for the absence of expectation
is nothing but fear
when every moment could be sacred
and could be known to the millisecond

i am precious with your time
i count the steps you take and the ones that will come with it
for i don't know when you will next step
with me there to count
and for me there to think about your every precious inhale
and exhale
Inspired by T.S Elliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"
Sitting here i ponder
A poem to write with wonder
But the open wounds call my name
I pick them open and let the blood drain

Once i pick there's no going back
I'll keep going until i have an anxiety attack
It gives me sick pleasure to feel the pain
open wounds are  everywhere
i cannot restrain

I want to heal to grow past this
my flesh it calls for the sadistic bliss
scars they harden into my skin
I know I'm no good I let them win

Nothing can stop this eternal ****
like a red ocean into which
i fell
This one was about my anxiety and my issie with picking at my skin
void 7d
im sick of this smell
i hate feeling like the hospital
it feels like the hospital
cant sleep
ears hurt
stomach tight
mouth dry
smells like the hospital
pillow hard
walls cold
too warm
does the city feel a little bit like home or the hospital
void Dec 6
Drag out of

Bed and into

Clothes for the

Day. Stumble into

The bathroom and

Brush, rinse, spit.

Line eyes: one,

Two, three. Each

eye, each lid

Gets three. No

More, no less.

Slide down the

Stairs but do

Not forget the

Gate. Throw on

Shoes and make

Way into the

Kitchen. Grab something

To eat – wait

Don’t. Coffee won’t

Make sick so

Just pack a

Lunch for later.

Leave for school

And brave the

Day, take it

In threes. Count

Your steps: one,

Two, three. Earbuds

In; can’t hear

A thing. Class

Passes ever so

Slow, sludging along

Until all the

Threes are up.

Make playlists in

Threes to make

Sure it’s enough.

Everything done is

In threes because

Anything else would

Be too much.

Even in twos

Or ones. Take

Care of body

Of mind of

Living space in

Threes. Clean and

Nourish to remain

As healthy as

Can be with

Allergies and sensitivities

To almost everything.

Do the best

That can be

Attained and maintained

Without a toll

In the long

Run. Remember to

Go by threes.

Listen, breathe, be.

One, two, three.
I drew the second third line
A first fourth one is on deck
Knew I inked them finely fine
Still, I go check and recheck

Marvelously filleted corners
Cleave an unsettling sound
Put compass back on paper
Just to make sure it's round

Anxiety was bound to happen
To the fifth first line I go back
Again, I sharpen and sharpen
But I give up, made it all black

Perfection is not my liberty
But a numb skin I wish to flay
Half of my mind seeks symmetry
Yet the other  half  
                                 is    in
Eleanor K Dec 5
First off, it won’t go away
Simple as that
It burrows inside your head
Like a Chinese finger trap
(I’ve never seen one but I know
what they are like)
Or perhaps a camel’s thorn
Another thing I’ve heard of

Occasionally you find relief
Maybe two minutes or even less
Maybe up to five hours
But it always comes back
At least for that day

You want to scream
To plead, to cry, to beg it to stop
But of course it won’t
It’s OCD, are you kidding?
Of course it won’t
No matter how hard you try
And believe me, you do try

You try not to compulse because
You know that’ll make it worse
You imagine a drill going
Through your brain, destroying your thoughts

It’s illogical, but that’s OCD
Normally, when things are illogical
You don’t trust them
You brush them aside
Knowing they aren’t true
That they can’t be

But with OCD you believe it’s true
And you don’t want it to be
And it might not be
But it also might be true
And as the day goes on
You’re more and more afraid
That it is

You live in fear of yourself
For you are hating yourself
Your possible truths
You tell yourself
That you aren’t your thoughts
Thoughts aren’t actions
But you can never be sure
Of what you think

It’s the doubting disease
Leaving scratches up your forearm
And that’s why
It’s ocd
I struggle with obsessive compulsive disorder. This is a poem I wrote a couple months ago, but I thought I‘d share it anyway. I’m in a better place now.
Silver Dec 1
Why is it that love is so easily confused,
With a multitude of other experiences?
Perhaps we identify love as the feelings we hope are truly it,
Through the fear of acknowledging them for what they truly are.
Obsession, desperation, a projection and dependence of self-worth?
We dodge calling the *****, a *****.
My Ocd is flipping switches,
My adhd is pulling pupet strings,
My brain is on vaction for most of the day,
and when he comes home it's night,
his favorite time to party.....
I get no rest,
And tomorrow there's a flippin' test!
I have some problems... Don't judge me .....
Shea Nov 23
I'm searching but I can't find
A single life
That wants to deal with mine.
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