"Tick, tick, tick,"
The little watch shouts.
He sits inside my pocket
And awaits me drawing him out.
Tic, tic, tic
It's time for me to rest.
Society and anxiety
Give me too much stress.
"Tick, tick, tick,"
His voice puts me to sleep.
I love his perfect rhythms-
The perfect time he keeps.
Tic, tic, tic
The second I put him away,
The vicious tics come back
I wish they wouldn't stay.
"Tick, tick, tick,"
Directly into my ear.
The only way to stay 'normal'
Is through the rhythm I hear.
Tic, tic, tic
Whenever I am stressed,
The painful tics come back
And cannot be suppressed.
"Tick, tick, tick,"
The second-hand marches on.
Enduring all his hardships,
He's rewound every dawn.
Tic, tic, tic
My fists are bruised and aching.
"What a crazy spaz"
Society's gaze is saying.
"Tick, tick, tick,"
My lovely watch proclaims.
I whisper the rhythm back;
The perfection keeps me sane.
- - -
I need my pocket watch beside me.
Though it may not seem I do.
You simply do not understand
The troubles I'm pushing through.
The terrible sounds and motions
Are so very, very draining.
The worry to always suppress,
Wears out by the day's ending.
My watch sits beside me,
Ticking as I write this
(Ticking so I don't have to),
And reading as a witness.
This poem is about how stress and anxiety often make my tics worse. I always keep a pocket watch with me, however, so I can pull it out and place it near my ear to listen to the perfect ticking noise it makes. This very unceasing rhythm is what keeps me from having a breakdown most of the time.
