"obsessions" poems
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
I went to the Cordon Bleu
And my name is Pierre
I work in the kitchen
I’m a French chef extraordinaire
With fine French food
My name is synonymous
But I am an addict
I attend McDonalds Anonymous
When I make a quiche
I just want to hug it
But I keep getting cravings
For a Chicken McNugget
Fast food or French food
I am conflicted
Fast food or French food
Yes I am addicted
The 12-step program
Keeps me on track
I have to fight my desire
To binge on Big Mac
I pretend I’m a food snob
My life’s full of lies
When I buy burgers
I must wear a disguise
I should come out of the closet
Admit my transgressions
Then they would accept me
For my fast food obsessions
Maybe the other chefs
Would heap me with praise
If I smothered my Big Macs
With Sauce Hollandaise
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
*So tired of this feeling
so tired of just being
so tired of thy place
so tired of my face
so tired of frustration
so tired of humiliation
so tired of instant anger
so tired of constant hunger
so tired of feeble jealousy
so tired of peoples infidelity
so tired of running away
so tired of not knowing what to say
so tired of yo yo emotions
so tired of no go solutions
so tired of being tired
so tired of how my brain's wired
so tired of over thinking
so tired of sober drinking
so tired of appeasing obsessions
so tired of these possessions
so tired of saying no
so tired of staying home
so tired of praying alone
so tired of making excuses
so tired of feeling useless
so tired of restless nights
so tired of this pointless plight
so tired of facing fears
so tired or racing tears
so tired of panic attackss
so tired I can't relax
so tired of anxiety
I guess I'm just tired of me.*
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 8:06 PM UTC
I put little stock in counseling, simply because it doesn’t work for
me. That’s reasonable. right?
That’s why I’m not
going back.
Because contrary to the initial irrational paranoid belief held by
not me, I was not
***** by anyone this last July, I am not
an altered boy.
Repression? Obsessions? Depressions?
You’re right, in a sense. I was not
***** by one man this last July, I was
***** by the whole church for the past 18 years.
I learned, or perhaps deduced, from Sunday School
that all *** is sin
that inanimate objects had a goodness or badness about them
that Satan was in my head (by this I was terrified)
that all my friends were going to Hell (by this I rebuked them and was never forgiven)
that its true: my parents would have gotten me ****** to death in biblical times
because they love me
that I could choose who I was attracted to (apparently by watching straight ****
that God needs money
that the Internet is of the devil >mfw intellectual open market
that I could only achieve ****** once in a lifetime >mfw I came
that God’s love is conditional
that electronics are a sin if they make noise and are inside a specific building
that all Muslims are terrorists
that I’m worthless because I’m a sinner
that I’m inherently evil.
And I still miss it sometimes.
I miss the taste of Christ’s ****
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
Lately I’m obsessed with the black and white photos of the world. The way they bring out the details you didn’t think you’d see in your life.
Lately I’m obsessed with the hidden greyscale of my life. The little spots or blemishes I didn’t know I had in between the cracks of my mind.
Lately I’m obsessed with knowing all I can know about how to forget my past. How to find those ancient remedies or dark coffees and fruity teas that will stop the pain in my heart for a little while.
Even though these obsessions seem so tiny compared to my big thoughts and wild dreams.. I can’t stop thinking of what’s next. Mystery lies on the horizon of my new obsession & how I will handle it.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 7:23 PM UTC
a fearful thought or idea
enters my head and
robs me of my serenity
the center of all my obsessions
is me, and the only things that helps
me get out of myself is
being of service to others
I ain't no bodhisattva,
but I think they had it right.
Even if you become an englightened being,
what's the point of being aware and free
if you aren't willing share it and help
others to be free.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
The rhythm of life is like an endless melody
and goes on regardless of where we might be.
Throughout the day and all during the night
it never stops tho’ it’s not obvious to sight.
When the sun rises and again when it sets
that rhythm of life all things never forgets.
With each coming and going to and fro
we’re all part of its main working show.
In birth and death as in growth and decay
all creatures have their moments of play.
In the heavens above and on the earth below
one after another they all must come and go.
With the ebb and flow of each wave in the ocean
it’s apparently like a ceaseless rhythmic motion;
tho’ they’re caused by the moon’s gravitational pull,
and is itself also subjected to being either new or full.
In the four seasons of the year and all the changes they bring,
as the earth revolves around the sun, affect every living thing.
By these regular distinct cycles each lasting its period of time
it’s a universal ongoing phenomenon and never ending rhyme.
Whether we like it or not it embraces us all in its sway
and our affairs in this world enjoy their night and day.
It makes order gradually come forth out of chaos it seems
and helps us all to survive and even realise some dreams.
We all have certain basic needs and so many wants or desires
and flowing with the rhythm of life all in harmony transpires.
If we have unnatural obsessions by which our mind is caught
then it’s freedom with a high price that is actually most sought.
This rhythm of life has an existence and power of its own
and all that does ever happen by it unmistakably is known.
When we become in tune with its reality and stay in touch
all that goes on in the world will be to our benefit as such.
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 3:01 PM UTC
the way you live is fragrance
turning people's senses
moving people's feelings
..you stain white hearts
then bleach black souls
..oh yes
you preach clarity
sowing memories
and feeding obsessions
..don't take me
my freedom is real
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 5:06 AM UTC
Who am i?
When the scars are stripped away
the obsessions gone
the compulsions unneeded
When i don't know the taste of serotonin on my tongue
the disappointment of looking in the mirror
or the bite of metal against my stomach
When i am myself again,
bare of the illnesses that have weighed me down
Who will i be?
Oct 4, 2021
Oct 4, 2021 at 11:28 AM UTC
Why is it sometimes we force our love?
Is it in our nature to push and shove?
Forcing our will upon our obsessions and desires
Chances burning up like a funeral pyre
I know, I've been down that path
Its riddled with lovesick fools who never did their math
You need to stop it!!
It will never work
All your doing is multiplying the hurt
For "True Love" from the beginning is true
Nothing anybody or anything one can do
Destiny will always find its path
It's laid with broken hearts that felt its wrath....
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC
This poem is composed by: a Nonet, a Kyrielle Sonnet, a Free verse part, a Terzanelle and another Free verse part:
In a juerga there’s nothing around
But voices, flamenco guitars ,
Dancing bodies in moonlight,
Vibrant gypsy dresses,
Passion, obsessions,
Bullfighter’s blades,
Silk shawls,
Dancers,
Capes.
Old men have faces scorched and cracked,
Flamenco women to attract,
Like barks of olive trees in night.
Shirts dazzle white in the moonlight.
Girls have boot heels and huge roses,
Men clench their teeth , step opposes,
Hands clap and shout in a dance fight,
Shirts dazzle white in the moonlight.
Guitars are beaten at high speeds,
Castanets scratch the music’s seeds,
Rhythmic fingers snap air to bite,
Shirts dazzle white in the moonlight.
Old men have faces scorched and cracked,
Shirts dazzle white in the moonlight.
Hands becoming wings
In their shadows on the wall,
Red becoming black and
Black becoming white,
Motion vibrating the guitar's string,
Cubic movements of colors,
In their dance ,
Shadowy wings becoming scarfs,
Flamenco woman arching her body,
Showing her passion…
From the soul to dissolve
The dancing sounds detach
From the soul to dissolve
When the movement they catch,
They may change all around,
The dancing sounds detach.
Drums and tambourines’ sound,
Exotic wrists and swirls,
They may change all around.
The weightless grace makes girls
Steal treasures from the air,
Exotic wrists and swirls.
With beautiful black hair,
Rise like birds , fall like leaves.
Steal treasures from the air,
Having tricks up their sleeves,
From the soul to dissolve,
Rise like birds ,fall like leaves
From the soul to dissolve.
Spicy slippery steps
Waiting for a clue,
Picking up portions of pink
Of hyper-femininity ,
Overflowing screwy sounds
In heavy red chromesthesia,
Morphing themselves into glamorous ,
Red feminine movements,
Men looking like marble statues being alive,
Seemingly cracking.
Slowly diminishing their dancing rhythm,
Steps sickling sweet sounds
To hear the horn of some lost happiness.
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 4:36 PM UTC
The impetus
Of being
Always on the run
Through pinwheel eyes
Those standing by
The mystic roadway : River
Blues yet to be brushed
or in blush
Of evening chill's breathing
a canvas like windows dreaming felt
All mindful
And chockfull O'
Wonder
Then ponder
Yonder "window breaks"
Past the wilderness' sleep
Bone heavy wood
Umber earth
Past whoosh and rush of liquid
Folding on itself / a soundtrack
Listen now
Pedestrian be
Mindful of the cautionary whales
Old Ahab’s yell
Obsessions
Fears
Or loathing.
If one is drowning in one's sleep
Look wildly
widely
Blithely
Down river
Or up there beyond finger's point
Sidewinder snake journeys
Until sky and below it
All meet
The distance
Now only a line
Coalescing what is beyond
Our ability to see
Far and away
Evanescent
Effervescent
Ever after
River. Life.
Here we are
And proud
The free spirit is fluent
With the rapid rivers loud
Always on the run
Currents like a child's curiosity ...
How then,
When or why
does it end ?
Where do we go?
Like most things existing,
Will lead to the high art /
love's deep oceans...
We often forget to seek
And mind
the sublimations/
d¬¬rift wood.
So then,
Begin with a dot .
A speck of dusk
A burst of light
A starry sky,
pieces to mastering
Raging fragility of water
Liquid undulations
Folding itself in / volumes
Or falling from on high
A droplet cry
Then the lightning
(crash or bloom)
From the heavens
like electric rivers
So brilliantly
Festoons
Where do we go (so low)
There and here / underfoot /
Over north / southern sleep
To oceans twilight deep?
Go wrapped or map-less
Or no.
Up
Way
Up yonder
There up there
Everywhere
All without fear...
My heart like the river yearns
To go toward the sun
A flow /
the beating drum
Always on the run
And
Yet
Still
Here.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 3:58 AM UTC
my polygamous relationship with you distances me from the monotony of monogamy and makes me feel lonelier than the loneliest mundane monogamist. my mere apologies for my misendeavors, the malnutritious morals of my miseducation propose metal mirrors and castaways controlled by cutting carvers, craving crazy letters and loyalty from lengthy lies and lonely lives. lethargy overtakes and vowels reign, raining drops like rainbows and rocks in rivers, rusting relationships, rusty railroads at intense intersections entwined in everything inside and nothing on the outside anymore except these
muscles. we are back at the beginning.
my mind marvels in the magic of the memories, the madness of the morbidity and the hesitations of your reaction. his, I take, is misunderstood as my misfortune, but it is not a miss, my fortune: it is a fox in feathers colorful like friendships 'fore their forfeited and feigned approval, forced for fear of polygamy tho' it promises the purest pleasure, the most personal independence and precious pearls of princes, princesses, powerful, plight-less
poetry. peace surrenders,
souls surprise themselves, surprise their cells, call for curious catastrophes to take place. colorful and calm they coincide with cooperation that can not contain the context of truth, of teases, of teasers and targets and tonal dualities and we endeavor, we endear you, we dare destroy the darkness of the devil in its disguised diamonds.
words lie at my feet like pebbles of poetry and I promise personal demise, deterioration and ridiculous obsessions- there's madness to be had and fragments to be written and I play with silly alliteration instead!
serious and serene you stare as if my sanity has slowly faded and I sternly helplessly smile shyly. I suppose you are sincerely offering me your blessing before parting, so stumbling slightly I surrender…
if this is the prevailing promise of mere mortality, I'm graciously aware I was worthy of words.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
whats the point of those chemicals
the ones that make me flirty
and giggly
and easy
what's the point of the regret
that makes me groan the next day
and sleep for hours
and sad
i guess those chemicals make you pretty happy
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
I have a longing to meet someone whom I've never met before
I will miss her
Even though i've never met her
Which is so confusing
Because I've grown so attached to her
Over video calls and text messages
Midnight confessions and our little fan girl obsessions
I miss her
Even though I have only known her months
I feel as though I have known her my whole life
Even though an ocean separates us
I feel as though she is right next to me
Even though we only speak through phone calls and texts
I feel like she is my best friend
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 2:01 PM UTC
I have wearied of grand romances
Of deep sighs and swooning trances
Of doting gentlemen’s advances
And all manner of courtship play
I am tired of love confessions
And of dizzied, dazed professions
And of unrestrained obsessions
I grow sicker day by day
I once dreamed of adoration
Went quite mad for veneration
Laughing, flirting with temptation
The queen in Camelot
The lonely, lovely Guinevere
Dainty-masked with girlish fear
But when King Arthur wasn’t near
Dreaming of Sir Lancelot
These days I want no noble knight
Despite my seeming helpless plight
I wish to set myself aright
And tread upon the ground
Yet here I am, pedestal-high
Too close to the dazzling sky
As my life keeps passing by
And boys keep running round
I’ve let myself grow much too proud
Drew up arrogance from the crowd
Heard the cheering, bright and loud
The queen in Camelot
And though I had my faithful Sir
Still my heart was all astir
With flying fancies, all a blur
For Guinevere and Lancelot
These fantasies have grown too old
I’d rather let my bed grow cold
For I have wearied of being told
“You are mine to keep”
Men have tired me to the core
Left me sad and sick and sore
And have turned into such a chore
And I’d much rather sleep
What blasphemy for a maiden fair
To toss such doting to the air
To turn away without much care
Though queen in Camelot
But I have withered, I have tired
Felt as if my brain’s been mired
And find not Arthur much desired
Nor dashing Lancelot
Is it so bad to want respite
From endless longing, day and night?
This constant charm becomes too trite
With ever staler tone
I only wish to rest a while
Recover from incessant guile
Forget the weight of lovers’ trial
And simply be alone
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
John Lennon
Can you imagine the world if he wasn’t shot?
Do you think his believers will finally see
The bullshitting hypocrite behind all that peace?
“All you need is love” sang by a guy
Who went out of his way to be cruel to his wife
Used to ***** about his dad doing the disappearing act
Until he did it himself, the silly ****
“Imagine no possessions”
Bold words from a guy who had a lot of obsessions
“Love is real, real is love”
Says the guy who’d rather have two lovers at once
His best hits was with the Fab Four
His solo hits are like seesaws
Yoko Ono had some hits
By him, behind closed doors she took it
Some people see him as some sort of Jesus
But truth is, he was politically clueless
The egotistical, ignorant little poseur
Who’d rather stay in bed until it’s all over
Did he change the world? Did he ****
Nothing but a demigod, high in everyone’s mind
I’m really glad he died in his prime
Just wished that ****** Bono was next in line
Jan 13, 2021
Jan 13, 2021 at 8:00 PM UTC
Crawl crawl
Burning through
Obsessions
Rotten stew
Crawl crawl
Through the pain
Remission
Is a joke
And life was a game
But is a remainder
of screwups and screwdowns
Crawl Crawl
Burning through
Possessions
Deadbeat crew
Crawl crawl
Forgotten stains
Permission
Is always denied
And rebuttals dumped
In trash cans full
of screwups and screwdowns
Drilling a hole
Finding geodes where a core was
Cold and dark and empty
Drilling a hole
Finding loneliness inside
It is who you are
Extinguished supernovae
Could have contained
And still the darkness would have stayed
Crawl crawl
burning through
your house of cards
melting all definitions
You're a screwup
Still alive
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
Acerbic antagonist alliterates agonizing accusations,
blasting ******* backbiter butting beautiful bombastic brainy blond bomb.
Cumulative cranial casualties cease caveman's cognitive coherence.
Doom digger derides Daddy's dangling dire dreary ****
Eclectic esoteric eccentric egotistical estranger;
Forthcoming fathoms fetch faithless fleeting father.
God given goblins gather gossamer ganglions;
Hell's hairy harlot harpies hover heeding Hyperion.
Ignatius imbibes irrevocably insisting,
"Jesus juggles justice's joy jarring jams."
Kindness kindles Kilimanjaro;
Malicious mountains melt, Mmm, morning marjoram.
Nothing negates Neanderthal ninnying.
Overt obsessions obfuscate original object of
purest passions, paltry past pinings,
quickly quieted, quelled,
resisted, relinquished, readily, ruefully, roundly
saturated, suffocated; surreptitiously silenced,
terribly torturing the thrashed tamed tormentor:
Ugly, ungrateful, unapologetic,
Vanity,
woefully wallowing, wailing, "Where's
Xanadu's
zeitgeist!?"
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 12:09 AM UTC
There's a simple life somewhere
Out there in the cold
If it's dead, I don't care
I'm already too old
The window feels like winter
It makes me think of home
My thought's been split to splinters
On this lonely, teenage road
Have you seen my possessions?
I think I left them in Omaha
I've got no obsessions
As we pass through Arkansas
Can you play our song?
Only if you sing it with me
And if you've been driving too long
Give the control back to me
There's a ringing in my ear
It's the voice of an angel speak
Tell me, I want to hear
Your stories awaken me
This wheel's on fire now
Just like our skin and our hearts
And before it's over now
Can you tear me apart?
I've been in here too long
I can't stand the engine noise
I need to get back home
And have a drink with the boys
Can you fill up the tank?
Can you bring me to the end?
Don't take this to the bank
But I want to see you again
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
when no objective is best for our protection
protecting ourselves would be the best direction
directing ourselves toward a progressive connection
connecting our minds to make a collective correction
correcting the obsessions that infect our perception
perceiving ourselves as the essence of conception
conceiving a brand new perspective of reception
receiving the blessing that we call perfection
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
i have never tried drugs,
some pills that could make me intoxicated
as i was already high on happiness.
but then i realized,
self love which was the spark
behind my positivity is vanishing.
i was horrified.
it has become a drug to myself
that i couldn't imagine my soul working without it.
my passion needed more doses
of self love, and i couldn't make it anymore.
at that time, i wished—
if self love can be found in forms
of pills and drugs,
then i already would have been intoxicating.
but i never got it.
i thank myself at that time
for stoping myself as sometimes
self love isn't important as long as
you are breathing.
other than your blood, flesh and bones
anything can make you go insane.
so it's better to stay on earth
and stop doing our drugs of different obsessions.
Feb 27, 2021
Feb 27, 2021 at 11:26 PM UTC
*Butterfly Desires & Fictional Highs,
Magnetic Spells In Her Emerald Eyes,
Bleeding Perpetual Fire & Toxic Cries.
Lucid Screams Of Her Plastic Love,
Paper Towns & Serenity Above,
Refracting Into An Apocalyptic Dove.
Postcards Of Her Estranged Serenity,
Diffusing Into Polaroids Across Infinity,
Rhythms Of Lusts Erupting Obscenity.
Bluest Shade Of Her Misguided Confessions,
Uncharted Fragments Amplifying Obsessions,
Profane Prodigies Detonating Desecrations,
Digital Dreams & Fictional Desires,
3D Symphonies Inside Her Crystal Wires,
Purple Streams Translating Fires.
Tunnel Visions Transmitting Reality,
Suicidal Trance & Static Eternity,
Molotov Solution Is Her Lighthouse Of Ecstasy.
- 04:19AM -*
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 6:56 PM UTC
All I'm looking for is some clear communication in the physical world.
I've got some intentions that don't necessarily balance on the scale of right or wrong,
but self-love gets old after a while.
I know I haven't talked about this in months,
but getting closer has been my top priority,
(since always).
Celebrities die in threes,
and relationships come in twos,
so where does that leave me?
I would use your name like some of my favorite poets do,
but I'm not that daring.
I'm an addict,
and I'll always be a top-notch quitter,
apart from the fact that I find new obsessions.
I have these new rips in my skin,
I can't help but cover them up,
or wonder about yours,
and if they're the same.
I think it's too late to compare,
but you know I tried to say this earlier.
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010 at 7:54 PM UTC
servants to society they roam
with blank, controlled minds,
meaningless obsessions fuelled
by selfish desires, unkind.
grandiose, pointless gestures
declaring nothing,
self-importance derived
from insistent buzzing.
absorbed by devices
holding existence hostage,
vacant stares, virtual prison,
lack of interest and knowledge.
Protected by the guise of
communication,
slowly ripping society
from its very foundation.
engrossed by nothing that matters,
materialism, image,
being flattered,
pretentious clones, lifestyle fictitious
there’s always a bigger picture,
but they’re preoccupied, pernicious.
disadvantaged by modern living,
people can be untrustworthy,
people are unforgiving,
misleading technology,
cruel traits heightened,
an entire race
believing we are enlightened.
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 6:47 PM UTC