OCD poems

This diptych was written during a period of frustration with obsessive-compulsive disorder and the exhausting cycle of intrusive thoughts and compulsive rituals. Writing these poems became a coping skill: a way to give shape to experiences that often feel invisible and difficult to explain. The Phantom Vigil reflects the tightening grip of compulsion and rumination, while The Morning Reprieve explores moments of relief, resilience, and self-compassion. Together, the poems are less about recovery as a destination and more about enduring the cycle, loosening its hold, and finding moments of light within it. "The Phantom Vigil
 A phantom legion claims each chair,
And casts microscopic shadows there.
A heavy coating, thick and gray,
That water cannot rinse away.

You sanitize to make it clear,
To wipe away the phantom fear.
The hands repeat the frantic chore,
Through stinging burns and open sores.

The scald is hot, the soap is raw,
Submitting to an unseen law.
The skin turns red beneath the stream,
Trapped inside a silent scream.

You stand beneath the pounding spray,
To scrub the stubborn ghost away.
The friction burns, the water slips,
While silence locks your heavy lips.

No words are spoken, nothing said,
The raging war inside your head.
Yet phantom patterns start to grow,
Where simple water cannot go.

A word you said, a future dread,
A maze built deep within your head.
The skin is dried, a brief reprieve,
A fragile truce you want to weave.

The gears lock tight, the mind spins fast,
The phantom thought repeats the last.
The trap resets, the loop stays tight,
And back to the tap you go tonight." “The Morning Reprieve
 The phantom legion slinks away,
Dismissed beneath the morning rays.
The sunlight spills across the floor,
To soothe the sting of raw and sore.

The basin stands in quiet view,
As morning builds the world anew.
You pause before the silver rim,
And hope the phantom thoughts will dim.

The scald is gone, the water cool,
You strive to break the rigid rule.
The skin is pink, the water clear,
You breathe against the lingering fear.

You look down at the heavy tap,
And wish to leave the midnight trap.
The friction fades, the shadows part,
A prayer for healing in the heart.

No words are spoken, none required,
The raging war is only tired.
You trace a path that might stay clear,
Where simple hope can venture near.

The future dread you try to ease,
Replaced by early morning breeze.
The hands are dry, the air is clean,
You linger in the space between.

The gears unlock, the wheels run slow,
You wait for softer tides to flow.
You keep the loop from pulling tight,
And wish this strength would last the night."