What does it feel like to drown.
I don't know.
But I do know what it feels like to sink.
The world's eyes are on me but I can't see them back.
I look down but there is no ground.
My head starts pounding.
What do I have to do to stop.
What must I do to get my head to stop twisting around and around.
I'm not an owl. My skin is tearing.
My neck hurts but my head is still spinning.
I can't call out for help because they will fall into this tornado with me.
I don't know what to do.
How do I startle my nervous system.
Cold water is too far away.
I can't do this.
I must do this.
Crap. That was too far.
It's flooding. What do I do.
I can't stop it. What do I do.
My head hurts.
I can't breath.
I'm asphyxiating.
I pick and scratch and stretch
Mutilate
Infect
Bleed
It drives me, separate
From relief
Akin to hunger.
Manual breathing
Counting
The minutes
The bites
The steps
Call it a quirk
I name it demand.
Addiction
What is an addict…
There is no powder
Or liquid
But still I feel ants under my skin
Until the ritual is complete.
Compulsion is one thing
Obsession another
But when the two meet,
The horseman ride
And I don’t know if the end will come.
I’ve got a thing about spelling
I'm not averse to showing or telling
But an apostrophe out of place
Is just a disgrace
And it always ends up with me yelling
Uncle is extremely meticulous
At arrangement of dishes, he’s cautious
From smallest to biggest
Glasses and all the rest
If order of wares fails, he whines like ewes.
This man does weird things to his heart’s content,
wears odd sock pairs thinking it’s not dissent.
Likes to live life of contrast,
sticks to obsession steadfast,
lets strange style of mismatched socks make a dent.
I once had a friend named Kishore,
Who during sleep always did snore;
One day he went for camping,
He staged his feat while sleeping,
Eversince, friends called him a bore.
for A Quirky ‘OCD’ Poetry Contest-Sponsored by: Suzette Richards
if I had a brain I would be driven, insane
the way they keep turning me, again and again
for I am poor Mr doorknob
and feel like a blobby blob
but fare better than the faucet and tap, Mr Wayne
Constance was a hoarder.
Her life was out of order.
She lived in a mess
I must confess
I would not like to be a boarder.
Nobody could walk in the door,
Excrement and junk covered the floor,
She could not throw anything away,
She collected more rubbish each day,
Items she had no use for.
Constance fed the cat, dog and the rabbit,
Who all had disgusting habits
Which made the house smell
And it was a living hell,
For her neighbour, Mrs Crabbit.
There was no room to move in the house
Even the rats and flies, and mouse
Found it a squeeze
Made them all sneeze
Even the parrot had a louse.
Poor Constance had a compulsion,
She had a disorder and didn't have a notion,
How strange this would be
For you and me
When we showed our revulsion.
What a dreadful affliction
A hard-to-understand addiction
They need to change
But it's challenging to rearrange
And go in another direction.
If her prayers were not perfect, Aunt Jen
would repeat them again and again.
Christmas cravings on hold
and our food growing cold,
we were dying to get to “Amen.”
I'm always proceeding being righteous
and opportunist, simultaneous.
I’m stubborn with my ego,
Yet for truth, I can forego.
I’m strict analytic, oblivious.
Volume Button OCD
There once was a man (that would be me)
Whose TV must rest on even degree;
Twenty’s divine,
Twenty-two’s fine—
So I watch in silence till numbers agree.
Volume Button OCD
There once was a man (that would be me)
Whose TV must rest on even degree;
Twenty’s divine,
Twenty-two’s fine—
So I watch in silence till numbers agree.
Volume Button OCD
There once was a man (that would be me)
Whose TV must rest on even degree;
Twenty’s divine,
Twenty-two’s fine—
So I watch in silence till numbers agree.
No! Mom's numbered boxes! All night we spend
Digging through papered names Red, Other, Mend
We find lights, but they aren't right
missing the Blue Silver White
Santa yawns, says, “Oh man, this house again!”
The doctor’s diagnosed OCD.
I keep on washing hands you see.
The wife says I oughter
Stop wasting our water;
So now she’s washing HER hands – of me!
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