*deep breath*

I don't write poems I scratch them out like a nervous tick like counting cracks in the sidewalk so something bad won't happen

Every line has to feel even balanced like breaths I don't trust myself to take naturally if a word leans too far left I drag it back by the throat

Delete. Rewrite. Delete. Again Again Again, until the meaning is gone and all that's left is symmetry

I chase the perfect sentence like it owes me money like if I don't catch it my thoughts will start leaking through the walls

Rhymes itch under my skin half-finished sentences hum in my teeth I wake up at 3 AM to fix a metaphor no one will ever read twice

There's a poem in every mistake and I make plenty but I can't leave them alone long enough to let them breathe

I polish them down to something sterile clean as a hospital floor where nothing real survives

and still I keep going

Because stopping feels worse than breaking it apart again

MultiOCD flag

A flag for anyone with multiple OCD subtypes or wishes to have multiple subtypes for any reason.