OCD-tired in the bathroom

By -
I cried under the too-bright lights.
Frustration had fizzed in my blood, visceral,
for hours 
and undone obsessions still hovered in my mind —
reality fringed with make-believe —
twice the sight,
twice the energy.

But I have done this before, so I know 
that salt soldiers win 
by breaking down the door
to let the self-talk in —
except it is not self-talk,
it is what anyone who knows you,
beyond your skin,
would say: 

Look how you carried the ghosts,
navigated through chaos, 
then wiped them from your face.
Steel can be soft,
your soul supple.
Tears; imagination-soaked drops
and your realist self.
I see all your eyelashes sparkle with
and it's a strength;
stretching under the lights.


C. LJ Ireton 2025

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