ocd

She chomps, she chows, she claps and applauds

And when she is done

She finds that she was too loud

In fact, she was determined to draw attention

To herself

And when she tried she climbed upon a shelf

But then she cried because she fell

The way she delved into the couch cooshuns 

And hit her arm on the metallic pole weighing a ton

But it wasn't her fault

If anything she blamed it on her parents

Their hard ambitions to put her through college

To give her an education they never got

but sought to have.

So they saved their can

And put money in it

Acted as if

She fit

in English lit

But when she became

Mentally ill

And fell against the floor

She climbed again to the ceiling fan

And her parents felt

Disabled.

Disappointed

she was all they were

All they had was one daughter

 One pride 

One joy

Their little girl

Maybe they should have had a boy

But it was too late for that now

She was simple-minded.

As simple as a cow

 Her home was the feeling 

Of being close to the ceiling

But maybe its because

As of now

Her life was upsidedown 

And the ceiling felt like the ground,

A structure of madness

A path complete

Four corners 

No curves

 Just a soft place for two feet 

To tread along

in the calmness of a pond

The imaginative textile beauties of lily pads

Except it was not that

 

The ceiling was clean

In a sharpened way

neat

 It was something that made her think time away

 All throughout the day

 But at night

was when she came alive

 Enjoying her food

And constructing a prize

 She put effort in

The passion she drew

 Curves of letters

And wrote so few

 Some may say 

A legend she grew

But it was only the people

Her eyes knew

The imaginary ones

 That walked upon

The ceiling so swift; ly 

right along

The side of her 

A beautiful spur

Of hope on tongues

But there was nothing vaguely unique about the space 

In reality, it was just a place

That she felt safe 

So to her, she appreciated rhythm and melody

She loved to think about these things

And imagine a sound so serene 

Like soft sheets of silk

And the tranquility of a child's dream 

That quickly turned to an ugly scene

A scene of sadness

And echoey screams

A scene of wrinkles, crinkles, and trees

But not the good trees

They were willow trees;

the kinds that would weep

A multitude of Ugly thoughts

And ideas so tedious and unclean

They ran at her fast surrounding and mean

How could she know she was schizophrenic at four

with all the Doctors at the door 

Drilling symptoms and diagnosing her 

with ocd. 

Now she repeats

The words in her head

 The sentences so short

 And the rhythms of dread

The beat in my head

I'm Interrupted as I lie in my bed

 Why is it that my mind can't stop

Watching that ceiling fan spin around top

When nothings actually moving

 Its a feeling in me 

Of quiet sound

Too quiet til it becomes increasingly loud

driving me crazy because only in silence 

The four corners of the ceiling derive a melody

As they meet in the middle and swoop to a beat 

 But now all the fan does is screech

It scratches the ceiling, the only clean space

Each time now scratching and screeching in a circular way

A clock-like scar that drives me crazy.