Slam Poem
One word comes to mind
Crazy
So what if I don't like things out of place?
So what if I don't like sharing food and drinks?
So what if I don't like people touching me,
or breathing on me?
Some people say it's OCD.
Some people say it's germophobia.
My mother says I have anxiety.
I say it is a little of all of them.
I can't help my problems.
Everyone has problems.
I can't help mine.
OCD leads to being bossy,
yelling at my best friend because she did something “not my way.”
It is frustrating,
knowing that I am being pushy,
overdramatic
and stupid.
I bite my fingernails,
tell people to fix their sleeves,
and I always have to tap my right foot the same amount as the left foot.
At parent teachers conferences teachers tell my mom that I need to calm down.
I throw tantrums when someone moves my stuff from where I put it.
Germophobia.
One question comes to mind.
“Wanna bite?”
Um. No.
I don't want to share your saliva.
My first kiss was sophomore year and let's just say,
I was freaked out.
Anxiety.
My least favorite part.
First of all,
the hot flashes.
I feel like my blood is boiling,
I feel like my skin is melting off of my bones,
my face turns as red as a strawberry,
and my chest gets all blotchy.
My heart rate increases.
I can't breathe.
I can't breathe.
Breathe.
I look around.
My friends are fanning me because they know this happens a lot.
I start to calm down.
The hot flash leaves a terrible headache.
Anxiety.
It leaves me exhausted.
Mentally and physically exhausted.