Patterns everywhere, but what to foresee?
There’s Innumerable things to compare,
This OCD: a familiar bee, another tree,
If I only had the key,
Could make everyone aware,
I’m sure they would agree

Uneven roads,spilt coffee
How loathsome, how unfair,
All these patterns seem to be.
So many things to see;
And now what’s over there?
And what does it mean to me?

Their meanings flee;
Ignoring every prayer
From this humble devotee.
So now here is my decree:
I’ll renounce, forswear,
Over and over, plea and plea,
‘Til someday it lets its hold from me.

a feeling of numbness

suffering from a disease

too invisible for the eyes to see

a parasitic disease

in which its host

is unable to escape

the confines of this mind

no matter how hard they try

a precious body with a functioning heart and brain

but unable to use them to your gain

a body that never experiences happiness

an abnormal brain given by a God

who apparently conducts experiments on his children

a lingering heaviness in my mind

impossible to be removed

urges that I don't want

every day, hour, minute, second

always in a battle with your own mind

nobody there for you to confide

in


for i just want to be normal.

I feel them inside my head
Thoughts digging pathways into my brain
Repeating our conversation over and over
And over and over again.

Sentences, turned every direction
Up and down, repeatedly
Breaking apart your every word
Like what did you ~really~ mean?

Panic floods my bloodstream
But after only half of your sentence
I have to remember the second piece too
Then I can breathe again.

Irrationality claws at my heart
Doubt and fear suffocate me
But I want to believe you
I want to believe.

But what if my brain is right?
And what if you're wrong?
I pull reality sharply back into focus
As my thoughts tell me I'm crazy.

Inhale peace and exhale doubt
I have to let go of these questions
I love you, I love you, I love you
One day I'll be able to believe you.

Thoughts spiraling, so endlessly
Spinning me in circles until I'm blind
Back and forth and back again
Until I don't know what's real anymore.
My brain whispers lies like sweet nothings
Telling me we'll never be what I need
That I'm dumb to want you this much
That I'll always be nothing real to you.
Sometimes I know the thoughts are lying
We talk about it and I promise I believe you
But the doubts are convincing too
And you can always find the evidence you look for.
I just want my brain to stop and slow down
I sow the seeds of my own misery along synapses
I can't imagine the strain this puts on your heart too
And I never wanted to cause you any pain.
My brain tells me I should just run away
That leaving could be best for you and for me
But I love you more than I've ever known
And running won't solve anything.
This well-worn path runs deep into my soul
Over and over again, in pain and in fear
I know they're all a part of the same problem
And I promise I'm fighting to find a way through this.

obsessive
compulsive
thoughts that don't belong
intrusive
elusive
intrinsically wrong

ocd

unstable
unable
harm your bone and skin
fearful
tearful
tattoos of your sins

ocd
ocd

aggressive
possessive
words not meant but said
irritated
isolated
dreams not gone but dead

ocd
ocd
ocd

White Lily takes her white knuckles to bed
After sweet Lily spends the day locked inside her own head
Little Lily just likes to feel a little silly --
Intoxicated by the weight of words she never even said

Past, present and future
Shoot through the floor
Tying knots around her wrists and
White Lily takes her white knuckles to bed.

I want to die
But I don’t know what that is.
No, I don’t just want things to be alright.
I’m tired of this world and life.
I want to write one more poem.
To let the story have an end.

And then leave by myself.
Which seems impossible for me, to just let everything go.
It took me everything to do everything in this life already.
Have it be ok enough to survive.
But it never really worked and it never felt alright.
So please let the story end.

Tell me where I will be free and where I’ll find my place.
A world of freedom with my old friends and feelings.
Still there but feeling good and better.
Not sick but in my power.
In love and able to rest in peace.
And fly away.

I can’t find my world in here.
Let me go soon now.
Write the end chapture here.
Let me die, let me go.
Let me find my courage to let go of everything, it’s not even working.
Ever.
Yet it’s all I really know.

I tried before to go.
Wasn’t my time.
Same right now, still things to wait for.
For people, for me.
Born suicidal, I hate this world, the life, the constant merciless days and nights.

I wanted euthanasia but in the end it was denied, trying again, reapplied.
Intensely long waiting time.

Although I know there’s more to this torturing life.
And every chapture had its own little subjects that perfectly align.
But now I need to die!
I want to, I have to.
Let me say goodbye, tell you “This is the end”.
For once and for all.
In this life for me finally.
Goodbye, goodbye.

The end.

oh, terrible person;
oh, woe is me, terrible
'person' for terrible acts
that were never committed
in the first place.

oh, second place,
welcome me. welcome
me? welcome 'person'
for uncommitted deeds
and false memories?
is it welcome? is it
welcome?

oh, honey. oh, darling.
oh, sweet sweet sinner
from catholic school
in the back seat of a fighter jet.
oh, military propaganda
for a life un-lived. oh,
song. oh, drown it out.
oh, performance.

oh, performance.

oh, beautiful girl.
oh, girl to be taken.
oh, girl to be used.
oh, girl, get used to it,
you'll be dealing with this
longer than it was dealt to you.
oh, girl, you'll be hurt
longer than the hurters. oh,
sweetheart, i forgive you because you
were young. but you are me,
so i also hate you.

oh, little one.
won't you grow up?
won't you be a failure
earlier than i was?
won't you give up
like i never did?
won't you hitch a breath
on a short prayer,
wish you never were
wish they never were
wish those things...

oh, those things.
wish they never were?

see, you're younger than me.
oh, you're so much younger than me.
wish they were never done;

see, twenty-three year olds
don't have fairy godmothers.
they have propranolol and therapists
and dialectical behaviour therapy forms
forgotten to be filled in.
oh, forgotten.
oh, stone slabs with no meaning.
oh, stonehenge.
oh, mythology.

be an anthropologist, my love.
curl up your grief
and your trauma
and work it into a pretty clay sculpture.
oh, sweetie, make it beautiful
please
make it beautiful. make it
loved, or just make it.
let it be finished
and loved
and long-lasting
and then die.

oh, and then die.

listen to music.
sink into music.
be music,
be beautiful,
be consumed.

you are what was done to you.
after all,
oh, after all,
you are what was done to you.

you are what was done?

you are done.

I take the remnants of my
childhood OCD,
and I put it to
hard work at my
custodial arts job.
Janitor to be PC.
All the initials make
my BP rise.

And the pounding
of the basketballs attack 
my eardrums in
a mad staccato
beat.
The blue toilets, and
the chemicals assuage
my nasal cavity.

Leggings and tight shorts
get my Nabokov mind calling
******, come, let me
touch your pink flower.
I'm wet now at
the head; can they see
it through my pants?

How many times did
I touch the light switch?
Do I need to blink
my eyes two more times?
Ah, if I could only
swim to heaven in
the blueness of the sterile
chlorine in
that big cerulean pool...
wash this
wretched disease 
off, once and for all.

The thought of you terrified me at first.
Another reason for someone to never love me.
It brought me to tears.
But when I heard my diagnosis…
I smiled.
I was relieved.
My thoughts.
My obsessions.
My compulsions.
They now had a name.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
OCD for short.
My thoughts no longer defined me.
They weren’t a part of me anymore.
I knew what to call them.
They had a name.
And maybe since I knew their name,
I could tell them to ******* leave.