We are not dead yet(poetry): Plot twist and other magic tricks

25

I speak for the blind
I write for the mute
Poetry is something
that makes even deaf
be heard

I was tattered but fixable
I was moody but never a kill-joy
No true secrets are kept
so when people tell
they only speak half
of what they know

Repeat you say,
An obsessive impulse for
the ill- brained
Anxiety commands
so I count as
many times stress relay

So one two three
One two three
I have an obsessive
disorder living within me

I wasn't blind,
I wasn't deaf,
I just hope people who
got sick immediately
seeks help

One two three,
One two three,
My excuse may
be unreasonable
but just like poetry
I do numerous words
just to set my mind at ease

Vicious cycle of nonstop
ritual habit until I tell my mom,
I am a failed experiment
who doesn't deserve to be treated

Can't get rid of them,
I failed to control the hems
As a matter of a fact,
it's harder for a stranger
to adapt such compulsions
and adjust as time pass

One two three
One two three
I should have
stop counting
repetitively

Prevent to annoy my dad
who tried to treat me
as a normal human being
Not irritate my sister who
put fault at my
obsessed lock-doors behaviors

For when things like thieves
breaking in had me worry
Better safe than sorry
I have counted
ten times ten
Again and again.