"he voice of jealousy tells me that hope makes me weak. Anger fuels my fire and logic"
samuel hdz 

3153 miles away I lay with a mind that's clouded with thoughts. Past Scenarios playing out differently. Over analyzing the present. Anticipating the emotion that I will feel in the future. If ever I was consumed it has never been like this. Regret comes and fades. optimism shares that same cycle. Happiness And sadness come in doses like sedatives.  The voice of jealousy tells me that hope makes me weak. Anger fuels my fire and logic keeps it burning. Yet voices, Medication, and the embers fade. The constant variables   are only wondering and anxiety. Peace comes in sleep and yet its hardly enjoyed.

"Something that makes you take a second look."
April Watson 

I read so much poetry i've started to think in rhymes,
then I start to wonder if i'm good enough to write a few lines.

Always thinking in words that'll get me some kind of verse.
Something that sounds not too predictable and hopefully not rehearsed.

I wonder if it in my head is as good as it is written down.
And if out loud it doesn't sound too profound.

I want to create something that has a hook.
Something that makes you take a second look.

It'll be simple but deep from the heart.
Some one will read it and say "that's fine art".

"It makes me mad sometimes."
Cara Keyser 

So, I have a thing for rainbows.
The colors make me feel calm.
They go white-pink-orange-yellow-yellow green- dark green- blue green-light blue-dark blue-indigo-light purple-dark purple-brown-black-grey-white.
I added some of those.
They seemed right.
I always put my markers in rainbow order.
It makes me mad sometimes.
Most people don’t know the rainbow order.
They don’t even try to look it up.
There’s a business
In my town.
Rainbow Cleaners.
They have a series of colored lights under their awning.
It goes blue-purple-lime green-neon orange-pink.
Driving by, I see
Those mistakes.
I’m ready to club someone.
But I’m not OCD.
That could be anybody.

So, I have a thing for my nails.
I look at them sometimes
For hours.
I buff them and file them and polish them.
I cut them I glue fake nails to them and pry those off.
I do all of these things,
Mostly to keep myself from doing
One thing.
I pick at them.
Til’ they’re to the quick.
Til they’re ugly and I wish they were longer
Normal.
The other day I was listening to an audiobook.
I felt wetness at my fingertips.
It was warm and sick,
Like sweat,
But wrong.
I felt stinging
I looked down.
All my fingers were bleeding.
But I’m not OCD.
That could be anybody.

So, I have a thing for the lights.
They all have to be on
Or they all have to be off.
Someone told me on wastes electricity.
Off it is.
Making supper in the darkness,
I cut myself by accident.
I want to know how bad it is,
But if I turn on the kitchen lights,
All the others have to be on, too.
I run from run from room to room.
I don’t look at my bleeding hand.
I just turn on all of the lights.
They go kitchen-hall-upstairs hall-bedroom-bathroom-guestroom-downstairs again-living room-bathroom-laundry room.
In the laundry room, I can finally look.
It is awful.
I have left a trail of blood behind me.
To mark my path.
The right path.
The only path through the house.
But I’m NOT OCD.
That could be anybody.
So, I have a thing for my clothes.
The other day, they were wrong.
So I spent four hours naked organizing.
When I finally broke the trance,
That goes white-pink-orange-yellow-yellow green- dark green- blue green-light blue-dark blue-indigo-light purple-dark purple-brown-black-grey-shirts-jackets-dresses-skirts-palazzo pants-pants-shoes,
It was really late.
I had not made it to work.
I might be fired
Because I’ve done this before.
I might be OCD.
This does not happen to everybody.

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