Life

When did it become important in my life to 

count all the white lines on the road,

wash my hands thirty-seven times

or to do other silly things

to keep the anxiety away?

Why is it easier for me

to watch my friends distance themselves

than to watch the uneven spacing

between the cups on the table

or the dots on the wall?

Why do I rather check

if the door is really locked 

seventeen times in a row

than to walk out of it

and be with my friends?

Why can I without hesitation sort

all the clothes in my wardrobe

after size and colour

when I can't sort out

my own life?

Reviews

[kris reed]

Lots of good questions. I don't struggle with doing anything a certain number of times, but must repetitively do something until it "feels" right, and it makes me quite mad at times. I really loved your second stanza, the concern of the spacing of the cups over that of your friends; a brilliant observation and definitely something I find curious about my self sometimes.
A wording suggestion: "Why do I rather check" try "would" instead of "do" and see if it reads better (I also like "would" as "wood" of a door that "checks" as in cracks like sanity does when controlled by "silly" rituals). Again, you've done a wonderful job analyzing your need to take care to silly things and ignore the important ones. Keep writing!