Obsessive Clean

Anonymous

High School Student

August/September 2024

I scrub the day from off my skin,

A ritual of start, again.

Each surface speaks its secret grime,

A stain of thought, a mark of time.

I wash my hands, I wash once more,

But shadows linger on the floor.

An unseen smudge,

a hidden trace,I chase it, yet it hides its face.

Clean is quiet. Clean is still.

The world outside bends to my will.

But in my mind, a restless storm,

Where perfect never takes a form.

The water soothes, the soap relieves,

But dirt in thoughts, it never leaves.

I seek a peace that’s hard to find,

In spotless rooms, in ordered mind.

To feel clean is a fleeting flight,

A battle fought in day and night.

And though I try, and though I weep,

The dirt remains, so buried deep.