"compulse" poems
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
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 3:43 PM UTC
Do you know yourself? Between the love and the hate, do you know your strength between the stress and the calm? Do you know your limits between the vice and the abundance? Do you know the purity of your soul and what makes it glow? To know is one thing but to actually understand yourself as a soul, to fully acknowledge your conscience, is the goal. Do you even want to exploit such depth of feelings or do you just ride the wave, obliviously? Running with time and playing with the space that's given to you as it were free, life comes with a price called death. Hoping that the gold you've been so neglectively avoiding, would just turn up, without struggle and ambition, like undriven rewards. Do we learn or do we teach? Can you actually tell one feeling from the other, learning each one to its perfection or do you try and teach what you think we should feel, as opposed to knowing how you should feel? You can't teach feeling. Are we really lost in this suffocating society, slowly losing who we are with what we create. I cant help but think that we're so unaware of our greatness and history until it becomes just that, legend and myth. Why must life be such ways? Why do we fly blind on the horse of time? If we only understood the changes we set in motion, if we only knew our greatness, then to be honest with you we wouldnt make much a change. For we would know the out come, therefore contradicting our very actions. To not know is the very greatness of our own existence. To not know of our self greatness but with learning and experience, and patience to do so, well find out that the pieces that are missing, can be found just as easy as knowing from the begin with. Dont only learn from others, learn who you are also, dont only teach others teach who you are also. Using selflessness and patience. Through justice we will compulse into new beginnings and tranquillity will endure through to your very soul balancing all within, only then will we see true progression in oneself and also others. Because energy is connected, and forever bounded with faith.
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 3:39 AM UTC
It’s the least of my worries
Taxing my car
Or saving up for a house
Or remembering that thing
I was supposed to remember
Or anything really
Or passing that test
Getting into that school
Acing that interview
Getting that job
That pays enough
That allows me to progress
Progress?
I hadn’t even thought about that.
I hadn’t thought about any of it.
I think
about one thing
I obsess
I compulse
Or do I?
Is what I do when I
Think about that thing
I always think about
A compulsion?
Because if it’s not then
Can it be called
OCD?
And if it’s not
That means it’s me
And the thing I always think
About
is true
I know it’s irrational
But what if it’s not?
Maybe it just makes me feel better
To think that it is
See, who has time for rational worries
When you’re so full up with
Irrational one’s?
Nov 5, 2020
Nov 5, 2020 at 12:38 PM UTC
Fable XIII, Livre III.
L'autre hiver, des badauds attroupés dans ma rue
S'extasiaient devant une statue :
C'était la reine de Paphos,
Chef-d'œuvre qu'un artiste échappé du collège
Avait tiré... - D'un marbre de Paros ?
Non, lecteur ; mais d'un tas de neige.
Le ciseau de Chaudet n'aurait pas excité
Plus d'admiration dans la foule ébahie.
« - Voilà ce qui s'appelle une œuvre de génie,
« Un morceau vraiment fait pour la postérité !
« Que cette tête est noble et belle !
« Disaient, en soufflant dans leurs doigts,
« Trois amateurs transis ; l'antiquité, je crois,
« N'a rien à mettre en parallèle.
« - Rien ! dit un antiquaire indigné du propos ;
« Rien ! puis-je entendre un tel blasphème ?
« Rien ! ne craignez-vous point de passer pour des sots ?
« - Des sots ! nous, monsieur ? Sot vous-même,
Si vous n'admirez pas ces formes, ces contours,
« Cette pose à la fois sublime et naturelle,
« Ce sourire où l'on voit se jouer les Amours :
« Non, la Vénus de Praxitèle
« N'est qu'un bloc en comparaison.
« - Qu'un bloc ! » dit l'érudit étouffant de colère,
Comme s'il n'avait pas raison,
« J'espère aux ignorants démontrer le contraire ;
« Je ne veux rien qu'un mois. » Et s'échappant soudain,
Il grimpe à son taudis, s'enferme, prend la plume,
Compulse maint et maint volume,
Cite maint Grec et maint Romain ;
Se fatigue la tête, et plus encor la main.
Que d'encre prodiguée, et que d'encre perdue !
Non qu'au jour dit l'erreur n'eût été confondue,
Et le goût rétabli dans son honneur vengé ;
Mais, tandis qu'il grimpait, le temps avait changé,
Et la Vénus était fondue.
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