4 4 4 4
I bite my fingernails in vexation
You asked if my obsessive compulsive disorder gets worse because of the depression or if the depression gets worse because I am obsessing
I haven’t considered that
But the world is not black and white, I can see the greens and the blues and the reds
Even colorblind eyes see more than black and white
And why is it that my OCD makes me so impatient?
My brain screams at me to scream at you and who else, I’m biting my tongue so hard that it is beginning to bleed
And would I be alright if everything was even? If all the flowers were aligned in perfect rows and every couple kissed exactly four times?
Would I be fine if the pavement had no cracks and each curve was followed by an equally opposite curve?
My brain was made to destroy me
I crave silence
3 thoughts on "4 4 4 4"
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I really enjoyed the space in this poem.
where are the angels?
…revealing poem about OCD
“My Brain was made to destroy me.”
I know all these feelings too well.
Well done.