"compulsive" poems
Who are you?
You're not the same person you were two minutes ago.
I just don't get you.
You're compulsive, and corrupted.
You're easily addicted.
You have friends in your mind,
but in reality friends you'll never find.
You're simple yet, confusing
like a Rubik's cube.
With all your twists and turns.
This pain you put upon me
has left me with cuts and burns.
Will we ever learn?
To get along
and fix these never ending battles?
Your bipolar versus my anger.
Some days, to me you are a stranger.
Who I thought I knew has suddenly disappeared.
Your disease is something I've always feared.
Illness invaded your mind,
and has taken over who you once were
Leaving all your past senses blind.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 11:53 AM UTC
Replaying a riff four times perfectly
One missed fret and the entire day ends disastrously
Replaying moments of kindness and warmth
To overcome the feverish idea that I hold no heart
Every fourth step, threes end in ******
Maimed images constantly creep
This subconscious ludovico technique
These thoughts come and go in no particular order
A seat at the table and a serviette on my lap
What if I leapt out my chair and suddenly attacked?
What if I aimed the knife towards my hand?
I constantly question if that’s who I am
I will have a picnic with her today, all joy and cheer
When these intrusive thoughts will inexplicably get near
And terrorize my attitude as well as my image
Disassociating with a perplexed and horrified visage
I’m so incredibly tired of existing
A cruel and ironic fate
I’ve missed out on so many opportunities
All because of this miserable headspace
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 1:05 PM UTC
Being present means I'm not mentally labeling
Creating inner space and stillness, a being's haven
Being present means I'm not feeling emotionally drained
Creating inner space and stillness, more and more gained
Being present means I'm not waiting to react
Creating inner space and stillness, a being's habitat
Being present means I'm not clinging to the past
Creating inner space and stillness, it is so vast
Being present means I'm not worrying about the future
Creating inner space and stillness, and this I will nurture
Being present means I'm not compulsive thinking
Creating inner space and stillness, to God I am linking
Being present means I'm not judging what others think, say or do
Creating inner space and stillness, a being's point of view
Being present means I'm not resisting what is
Creating inner space and stillness, a native of this
Being present means I'm not attached to any kind of form
Creating inner space and stillness, a being's norm
Being present means I'm alert and alive
Creating inner space and stillness, a being's high five
Being present means I have the time for you
Creating inner space and stillness, and wholeness too
Being present means I enjoy what I do
Creating inner space and stillness, consciously too
Being present means I am consciously speaking, doing and acting
Creating inner space and stillness, of which there is no lacking
Being present means I am aligned to my purpose
Creating inner space and stillness, alive and alertness
Being present means I am at peace
Creating inner space and stillness, and flowing with ease
Being present means I accept its isness
Creating inner space and stillness, that is growing within us
Being present means I know there is no more important moment
Creating inner space and stillness, and feeling atonement
Being present means I'm connecting to a depth within
Creating inner space and stillness, for all to live in
Being present means there's nowhere else I'd rather be
Creating inner space and stillness, and the power To Be
Plant your flower ........
Being present means
I know there's no more
Important moment
Than NOW
© Delores Wiltse 2008 Excerpt from:
A Door Is Opening/AuthorHouse.com
Fresh Spiritual Poetry via:
http://peacefromwithin.shawwebspace.ca/
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 6:35 AM UTC
My Obsessive Compulsive Disorder causes me severe anxiety.
It's hard. To have it my way. It's hard. I overthink it. The images of the little things replay in my mind.
I can't seem to hide.
Why do I have this fear? Just make it all disappear. It's not reasonable yet it feels so intense.
I feel tense. I am not satisfied with my presence. I feel uncomfortable.
Why am I not content with my surroundings.
My disorder involves both obsessions and compulsions that take up lot of time and get in the way of important activities that I value.
So many mistakes that I need to fix.
So hard to perfect everything.
The line I drew isn't straight, I have to start all over.
I need to wash my hands again. It's been 5 minutes since I haven't.
Don't bite the Kit Kat, break off each stick and eat it.
The clothes in my closet should be hung up and organized by color.
My picture frame isn't hung up in the middle of the wall.
My food should not be mixed with the side dishes or I refuse to eat.
My apps aren't on the right page of my phone.
Twitter should be under social and instagram should be under photography and if it's not, it's wrong, it's all wrong!
I need to wash my hands again it's been 10 minutes since I haven't.
The tv volume should only be an even number or a multiple of five.
Why is my seatbelt twisted?
My mind is twisted.
All these errors are persistent.
So hard to resist it.
I am not leaving my house until my phone is 100%, 97% and I can't stand it (will not do. )
Mother tells me it'll be alright after i take my pills...I agree to as long as the pills are sorted by color
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 7:11 PM UTC
1. I am grateful for having the freedom to share my thoughts freely without censorship.
2. Grateful for my wife and our daughter growing inside of her.
3. I am grateful for something greater than me keeping me alive multiple times, when I tried to take my life multiple times in a dark period that almost lasted a decade.
4. I am grateful today that I can start the day free and at peace with my life, and not drown out the voices with substances or compulsive behavior.
5. I am thankful I can breathe, and be in touch with my heart.
6. I am grateful for Hello Poetry , my online community of poets that I can share my experiences and learn from others to continue living with hope.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 7:19 AM UTC
for the first time
since i was 11
i look in the mirror
and i actually like whats staring back at me
i don't know why it took so long to regain
the feeling of self love
and being content with less makeup
or none
in the mirror
i wish i know what could have happened
when i started looking at my little 11 year old body
and thought i was overweight
Oh my god i'm 75 pounds?! i remember thinking
I could blame my mom
or the boys who paraded naked pictures of me
criticizing my changing body in its early stages
i was made fun of for having supple *******
the first girl in my 4th grade class to wear a padded bra
i hated it
every second of my changing body
i started to get curves
and was known for having a "big ****
and this "best friend" of mine told me she was glad she didn't have one
a boyfriend shot me down
"you can't leave me because no one will want you"
mother and step dad made fat jokes when i was 14
because i'm not obsessive compulsive with my diet
now i look in the mirror and i'm so happy
i love every curve from my arms to my ankles
and my dark brown eyes stare deep into you don't they?
grandma wasn't kidding when she said people would pay
THOUSANDS!! for these lips
and this square jawline has it's perks
i used to get paranoid when people stared at me
until i caught someone
and they told me i was beautiful
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 2:40 AM UTC
(The sound of breathing)
I am the air / unseen
a breath
underneath
the rush
the coffee
the traffic
on concrete streets
I am lifting the dirt
the grime
the dust
polluting us
I am adding wings
to the speed of your feet
to where your dreams may meet
I am the sigh
in your quivering lungs
inside your heart
such self defeat
when you concede to its
deceit / disease / cease to breathe
never to notice me
or listen to our song
Time’s
Wind chimes
a summer's relief / a breeze
strides along
cooling your face from the heat
Do not say you blame it all on me
Don't say I'm the purpose
the reason
or the space between
Wound of flesh, lips compulsive kiss
The mindless lies
Loss of will
between the heart & the eyes
unable and refusing to see
It’s why our love
retreats
Dagger / plunged
the deathblow
a quick hands woes
A heartless man goes
so neat and clean
so discreet
hiding in the bleak
uncaring
so...
I am the air
you never notice me
touching
your sorrow
your skin
yet never being / your glee
invisible
that is how despair begins
I am the air / unseen
waiting for you to care
to notice
to open eyes, see!
I am the air, here / with you
a friend that is always
there
invisible
waiting to be / seen.
do you notice me?
(The sound of breathing)
A heart is beating.
Lub Dub Lub Dub
Did you notice
The life we misbelieve …
Us
The invisible
Unbecoming
Unloved
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 5:29 AM UTC
I found a crack in the sidewalk
That I didn't have the urge to step on
And I passed this crack every day
On my 4.40pm walk
For what seemed like a lifetime
And I glared daggers
At the thing that made my skin crawl
And my neck ache
And my fingers twitch by my side
Because cracks in sidewalks
Were meant to be tread upon
Every single one of them
Even partially
Not to break a mother's back
But to cover the imperfections
And to fill the void
That made me uneasy
And to fill it
Even for a millisecond
Before I moved on
As if the sole of my shoe
Could somehow heal the
Sadness that the ground must be feeling
But there was a crack in the side walk
That I didn't have the urge to step on
No matter how many times
I passed within stepping distance
And no matter how many times
It caused me pain
And maybe that was the period of my life
When the obsessive compulsive part of me
Decided to take a break
Because maybe
Maybe some part of me
Saw that the grass that grew
In the messy line that pointed east
Was something more beautiful
And more honest
Than any hidden disfigurement
Could ever be
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
I’ve been beginning to think
The entire world has OCD
Match this,
Control that,
They say
Why can’t you all be the same as me?
They just have to match the colors
Laid out on our skin
And scold all the others
Who dare be different from them.
The entire world has OCD
Obsessed with getting their way.
The entire world has OCD
Compulsive because
Apparently
Things absolutely shouldn’t change.
The entire world has OCD
Except for maybe me?
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 10:23 PM UTC
My hooded head casts a shadow
across the overflowing ashtray.
My exhaled smoke is silhouetted on the
handcrafted clay.
In the shape of an oyster,
painted with the colors of
rebellious 21st century youth:
Red. Gold. Green.
With a flare of "originality."
Breeze, light, cold
escorts winter across my
aged face and I see all that my life is:
Tar. Work. Tar. Tar. Sleep.
Work. Tar. Eat. Work. Tar.
Tar. Work. Eat. Work.
Drink coffee.
Tar.
Sleep.
Die.
Is this equation what I am
reduced to?
Simple formula, obsessive compulsive
DREAM.
The exponents of my life,
variables and names:
Tar. to the power of X.
Tar. to the power of M.
But exponents and powers
mean little to drowning men.
Can a man suffocate on
his own routine?
Can a man fashion a noose
from the fibers of his
"adult life?"
Look, Ma!
I'm all growed-up.
I have murdered adventure
and the youth that lives
inside it.
I snapped one too many thin branches,
fell through the thin ice,
and now I am addicted to solid ground.
I will stand on the banks,
watching the children
ice-skate around my ashtray
that overflows with
every "yesterday" and
half-smoked "this one time"
that comprise my
former life.
I am a grown-up now.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 2:01 AM UTC
if you are schizophrenic a small voice will tell you what number to press
if you are co-dependent someone will press 2 for you
if you are paranoid we know where you are and know what you want and we will trace your call
if you are depressive it does not matter no one will answer you
if you have multiple personalizes press 3456
if you are dyslexic press 696969696969
if you have a nervous disorder fidget with # key until the beep, after the beep, please wait for the beep
if you are obsessive compulsive press 1 repeatedly
if you are delusional press 7 and the mothership will answer you
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 8:21 AM UTC
How long will our bewildered heirs
marooned in possessions not theirs
puzzle at disposing of these three
cunning feignings of hard candy in glass-
the striped little pillowlike mock-sweets,
the flared end-twists as of transparent paper?
No clue will be attached, no trace
of the sunny day of their purchase,
at a glittering shop a few doors
up from Harry's Bar, a disappointing place
for all its testaments from Hemingway.
The Grand Canal was also aglitter
while the lesser canals lay in the shade
like snakes, flicking wet tongues
and gliding to green rendezvous.
The immaculate salesgirl, in her aloof
Italian succulence, sized us up,
a middle-aged American couple,
as unserious shoppers who,
still half jet-lagged, would cling to their lire
in the face of any enchanted vase
or ethereal wineglass that might shatter
in the luggage going home.
Yet we wanted something, something small ....
This? No ... How much is ten thousand? Dizzy,
at last we decided. She wrapped
the three glass candies, the cheapest
items in the shop, with a showy care
worthy of crown jewels-tissue,
tape, and tissue again sprang up
beneath her blood-red fingernails,
plus a jack-in-the-box-shaped paper bag
adorned with harlequin lozenges, sad
though she surely was, on her feet waiting
all day for a wild rich Arab, a compulsive Japanese.
Grazie, signor ... grazie, signora ... ciao.
Nor will our thing-weary heirs decipher
the little repair, the reattached triangle
of glass from the paper-imitating end-twist,
its mending a labor of love in the cellar,
by winter light, by the man of the house,
mixing transparent epoxy and rigging
a clever small clamp as if to keep
intact the time that we, alive,
had spent in the feathery bed
at the Europa e Regina.
4.5k
my mind has deeply forgotten my relevance to the world
because these compulsive movements are beginning to engulf my sanity
but i loathe every second of not being able to feel something impossible
because i’ve been able to surge into the depths of my own soul
to prove that happiness can and will exist under the sensible psyche
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 1:25 AM UTC
taller as a twisted fable skyscrape- - -
felt beyond the limits of a clan; yer
density is a moot point (whatdidyawant)
and heights are reached where heights are
found beneath belief in factuality- - who
wrung the cash register any apt poem could
be you to a clean home obsessive compulsive
but valid poetics - - valid music in the dharma
dance of life.
edward scissor hands with cloths on the palms
instead and 'DO YER DISHES' the psalm you
sing for cleanliness is next to godliness &&&
cathedrals of the genuine soul were never designed,
simply found an ancient artifact in the labyrinth of
yer soul (z)
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
it started as a polite knock
tap tap tap
always three times
my heart asked timidly to leave my body
tap tap tapped
on my ribs
always in three
my heart has ocd you see
soon my heart progressed
thud thud thud
always three times
my heart started raising its voice
thud thud thudding
on my ribs
always in three
my heart has ocd you see
then my heart was angry
wham wham wham
my heart pounded in my chest
wham wham whamming
on my ribs
always in three
my heart has ocd you see
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 9:59 PM UTC
~~~
for Matt
~~~
*"My suspect credibility upon the rockets of birds,
the soft parts of people,
the oceans’ inevitable, cyclical weeping,*
Who has time for poetry has more time than they deserve"
Breaking Spring by Matt Hart
~~~
your words warp me,
the woven texture of your composition,
Matt,
dumbfounding the sweeping, weeping, instant recognition in
the soft parts' of
Nat,
where credibility
long past being suspected,
simply arrested for statutory dark room
torrented questioning
deserve poetry deserve blessing deserve curse
You Jacob, wrestle with this angel witch curveball!
'tis better to give or receive
this poetry admonishment?
for who knows where the time goes,
when the fix is in,
the addiction itch,
commands and commends,
*feed the poetry *****
write or die*
one fix, one poem,
carousel leads to another,
yet,
with only time to live,
pay the bills
for renting the space you Earth occupy,
no time for illegal
compulsive word blending
the interrogator demands
deserve poetry deserve blessing deserve curse?
*who is your supplier?
who is your time stealer?*
by the ocean, weeping,
you plead innocence,
just ill drivel, needy for expulsion,
deserving of repulsion,
swear repeatedly,
never again, imbibe, scribe
*but the ***** coos in my ear,
reaching beneath
the vulnerable soft tissued skin and cells:
write or die
I thieve your time,
'tis nothing you deserve,
I am Poetry,
just your mistress,
better served*
deserve poetry
deserve blessing
deserve curse
~~~
June 25, 2016
written by the ocean, weeping
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
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
Sep 2, 2022
Sep 2, 2022 at 4:58 AM UTC
Sometimes you just have to accept the things that you cannot change.
Like, you can compulsive lie your *** off but it still cannot change what is true.
They say that the truth is the
hardest pill to swallow,
so instead I crush it up and I snort it.
Even if there were things that I could change I fear I'll just make it even worse,
so I mission abort ****
I lack the ability to actually change me,
and my courage is cowardly.
I'm hopeless, but I really do hope
that things will hurt less.
I'm useless, but I don't think that
I'll ever use less.
If not this, then it would be that.
It's all relative Nonsense where overall
you were just another substance.
But who am I to deprive misery of
its love for company,
honestly how could I possibly
maintain stability and be granted
any serenity, when all that is
surrounding me and inside of me is constant insanity ?..
Yeah, it's called Drug Abuse,
but is the term "Drug Abuse"
and the overall meaning behind it
really that simple ?..
In which being limited to the technical bottom line meaning and stating that by doing drugs you are abusing those drugs.
Where in other words the users
are apparently the abusers of the drugs that they use,
but isn't it possible that the drugs
actually abuse us too ?..
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 4:38 PM UTC
Spiraling
Thoughts.
They move through my head so
Fast
Its hard to keep up
But then a thought
Flying through the web of my mind
Gets caught
And sticks.
Unwavering.
...
"Did I turn off the stove?"
If I didn't
Fire
If fire
Dead pets
If dead pets
Dead me
If dead me
Pain to those I love.
...
The thoughts hit a wall.
There is a moment of pause.
"Everything is ok, I always turn off the stove."
....
Exhale.
Breathe.
Peace.
...
"But what if I didn't?"
It is back again
Clinging like a sticky-hand.
Fire.
Death.
Pain.
Until I notice
I'm doing it again.
Over
And over
And over again.
Feb 22, 2023
Feb 22, 2023 at 9:08 PM UTC
She's expected to be strong,
She's expected to be the glue,
To the broken glass,
She's not expected to cry,
She's not expected to scream.
But in reality,
She's weak,
She's the broken glass,
She cries almost every night,
She holds in her screams,
But her mind is screaming.
She's expected to be nice,
By Almost every person she meets,
She's expected to be more than that,
She's expected not to be rude.
But in reality,
She's not as nice as much anymore,
She avoids people more than she should,
She's says she “okay” though,
just Not as she should
She's expected to be there for her friends,
She's expected to listen and give advice,
Not to complain or need advice,
To have the perfect life and relationships.
But in reality,
She's drifting away,
She listens, but not fully,
She needs to complain sometimes but never dose,
she is falling apart.
She's expected to have the perfect family,
No divorce, no lies, no backstabbing,
Nobody trying to hurt anyone,
No abuse, no fighting, no drugs
But in reality,
Her parents are divorced, her mom was beat,
sister ***** dad wants nothing to do with her,
her mom is married to someone new, who has more kids that is put over her, her mom was taken from her for a year and came back a completely different person, her mother steals, Her bio-father is a compulsive liar, her sisters put her down everyday, Her biological dad ***** her sister, He tried getting her mom to get rid her.
She's expected to be close to her sisters,
No fighting, no yelling, Glued to the hip,
Inseparable.
But in reality,
They fight constantly, She can't stand them,
They're the reason, Why she's so sad now,
She's expected to not cut, She's expected to not have scars,
Not to be depressed, Not to be addicted to such a wretched thing.
But in reality,
She's been cutting for years,
And was almost two years clean,
Because she wanted people to stop jugeding.
She has scars all around her thigh,
more on her wrist.
She's addicted to cutting, She's itching to,
But her mother doesn't think she is,
“If you really wanted to die you would be gone
You only do it because you want attention, and lashing out.”
That's what her mother says.
Little do they know,
That their perfect little girl
Is slipping away,
Soon, She'll will be gone, and they will miss her.
She will be expected to come back but she won’t.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 8:55 AM UTC
Dream Catchers, egg hatchers, baby Snatchers, **** wackers, lip smackers, online hackers, ***** slappers, hand clappers, exotic flappers, lazy slackers, suitcase packers, & back stabbers.
Hate & defeated, cheat & feel the heat. Too weak & petite. Tales of hell, wishes on a well, thoughts are things you can't always sell. Sometimes words can be lies liars tell. One day to your death to you fell.
Pass it on. I don't belong. Some people are wrong. Die. I won't cry.
Pakrat hoarders, pro choice aborters, two faced home wreckers, voodoo curses, retired lazy old nurses.
Deaf & Blind, racist & unkind, poor & unemployed. Broke & exploited. Dumb, old, ugly, & fat. ***** stinking rat. Piles & piles of crap.
College professors, real estate investors, coaches, cockaroaches, poachers, perverts & ****** meat eatting caravores. Bums & addicts drunks & fanatics, obsessive compulsive, stalkers too possessive, insane aggressive.
Author Notes :
Partially true, could be your family.
© Harmony Sapphire . All rights reserved,
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 3:34 PM UTC
What gives you the right to
judge me,
criticism wasn't asked
so why you
open your mouth,
What's your prerequisite
to make assumption's
& judgments-
Constructive criticism
my ***
My
ADHD
PT-SD
Dyslexia Anxiety
& dealings with you
caused me a break down,
got me
chronically depressed,
You say you only
want the best for me,
Well shut up & let me be!
pill popping just so my E.E.D.
(Emitted explosive disorder)
wont cause me
to become
sentience
with life
new labels
would say
******
if you keep bothering me
I ain't stupid-
So stop talking down to me
Im not illiterate
******* I read
So let me be
No I don't have TS
(tourette syndrome)
I ******* cuss
cuz I wanna
so shut the hell up
I know right from wrong
I'm no psychopath
Then again
I just might be since
I could give a flying ****
about you
weather you live or die
I wouldn't cry.
Your making it harder
for ya self not me just go way
Doc
Do ya got **** Job,
I don't want to talk anymore
My past is where I left it
Behind me
You deal with it
Cuz
I already did & do
For you that
call your selves
wanting to help....
My OCD
(Obsessive-compulsive disorder)
is personal
So what if I wash
my hands& ***
3 or more times
I'm not stupid
or deaf
I have
Selective Hearing
Nor am I ********
that's how
I say hello
with my middle finger
I told you,
I'm not ********
***** I'm Special!
Always Me Ayeshah
Mar 10, 2010
Mar 10, 2010 at 7:15 PM UTC
Genetically built ****** so they say
Christian dysfunctional stability,
wasn't helping
A mom praying every night for a force reckoning
Shoving me into the light,
I've already seen
A mothers nightmare,
already in the making
I convinced myself:
Compulsive
Impulsive and
Explosive
Creates constructive thinking
I guess what I'm saying is,
**** it, I'm unique"
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 2:43 AM UTC