O C D

3/24/16

"My radio stations are in numerical order in my car."

"My volume HAS to be on an interval of 5." 

"My books are always straight."

"I count my steps in my head when I count or run." 

"I have to sit on the right side of the car if I'm not driving."

"I roll my shoulders because I feel like one side of my body is uneven with the other." 

"If I touch one locker at school, or one shirt on the rack, or one fence post at the park, I have to touch them all." 

"I read left to right so I have to do things left to right... I try not to but I can't keep doing my task if I do it otherwise." 

"Don't move that! My room won't balanced."

"I always thought you were adjusting your shirt." 

"I assumed you were shrieking at something gross." 

"Stop doing that it's going to ruin your stride when you run." 

"What are you doing??"

"You know what I mean?....?..?" 

"Stop rolling your shoulders. You're body is symmetrical, you don't need to even it out."

"Stop rotating your hip outwards." 

"Stop grabbing the corner of your jersey." 

"Your neck wouldn't hurt when you run if you'd stop rolling your shoulders."

"Stop counting in your head! Focus."

"Stop tapping each locker, you already know that there is 54 on that wall." 

"Stop tapping each nail Olee, there's nothing on or in them. They won't be any different if you don't tap them."

"You don't HAVE to sit on the right seat I the car. It will change nothing." 

"Putting on your right sock first will not kill you Olee." 

"Stop counting your steps, somebody is talking to you. Listen." 

3/11/16

Finding and feeling are often confused.

To find love,

to feel love. 

To find the right words to say,

or to say what you feel.

To find yourself,

or to feel yourself living.

Just as there is confusion in correlation and causation, there is confusion in finding and feeling.

Now of course,

to find yourself feeling; now that is a hopeful dream.

To give the mundane its beautiful hue -Updike

3/4/16

The inevitability of our fate was sealed long ago.

You were created to destroy me and I was made to love you.

The only thing that can send me spiraling into insanity is the only thing that saved me from my own self loathing sea, 

waves crashing over me like a brick wall collapsing,

enough weight to sink am iron ship you saved me.

You saved me and set out to destroy me. 

To rip my heart out whole and serve it to me at dinner and none of this is your fault because you are not evil or crazy or destructive- simply,

it is that I was made to love you and in my creation I was broken. 

2/26/19

blue gypsy soul run free,

blue gypsy soul go bleed.

it's okay to cry.

blue gypsy soul go run- run with the wind

beneath your feet and with the wolves howling in your hair, your eyes wide like the moon.

run because it's what you do.

run,

you'll run from pain so much that inevitably you will find yourself running from happiness with fear of it being ripped from you as it has before time and time again.

but this, my dear blue gypsy soul, this will bring you more sorrow that the raven can cry out. 

you'll run.

but that's okay,

because that's what you do.

blue gypsy soul,

you are so lucky to feel these things.

pain is life,

and you'll run.

running is okay, but- blue gypsy soul, you must learn not to run away.

2/19/16

I am a love child.
I radiate compassion and positivity.
My mother always sympathetic,
my father forever uplifting.
I was sitting at the bottom of a bottle of tequila,
tucked away neatly in the bud a rose.
I was made up of fiery, passionate, yet tragic young love.
I was made from my father: young, handsome and escaping pain in addictions.
I was born from my mother and into hands like a field of daisies,
I gazed into a smile warmer than the sun itself.
I was a child born into a family broken up of addictions and low inhibitions...
Yet I was floating in rivers of love and strength upon a bed of butterflies.
A child born of two extreme lovers;
I am a love child,
because I was a child born of deepest love.

2/11/16

She lived the simple, addictive, drug of observation.

She always stared a little too much and for a little too long.

She wanted to know their stories,

Anything to know a little bit more about a little someone who is so much bigger to someone else than to her.

She watched the way they talked and laughed and wrote and read and drank and ate.

She was too shy to ask and didn't want to pry but she wanted to know why that handsome young man ate alone and why the girl walked into the coffee shop with tear streaked cheeks and if that pregnancy test was bought for that girl herself or for her best friend.

She liked to watch and never talk.

Maybe it was weird, maybe she deserved the rude looks, she never judged...

She yearned to know, she liked to watch.

She so simply, observed.