Obsession

At the age of five,
I developed OCD. I would wash my hands.
Fifty times an hour.
Till I bled, till I rubbed myself raw.
I felt dirty, felt like it was the only thing I had control over.

At the age of fifteen,
I developed a liking for boys. I would hide it.
Everyday for twenty-four hours.
Till I pretended it didn't matter, till I would believe I didn't.
I felt dirty, felt so alone, I had to keep this under control.

At the age of eighteen,
I've forgotten that I am unhappy. I will laugh.
A dozen times per hour.
Till my chest would hurt, till I lose my breath.
I feel complete, feel so alive, I embrace myself for me.