Waking up for each morning’s graces
I analyse my thoughts from twenty paces
Before a single movement, I’m off to the races
Paralysed with the fear of my many faces
OCD has me trapped within its embraces
I’m one of the doctor’s strangest cases
Written for the Chimeric Poetry Scavenger Hunt:
Write a Quadrille as a Monorhyme.
This poem is written from the perspective of an old girlfriend of mine who suffered seriously from OCD, so much so that she couldn’t move her body when she woke, as her brain tried to work out the order that she needed to move her muscles in to get out of bed.
I’m pretty sure I borrowed the second line from someone but can’t remember who.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem: