A Fucking Bucket of Slime
I've avoided a million things in my life
Because I'm afraid of a mess.
Not messy rooms, and not messy yards,
But disorder that causes me stress.
But now I've grown older and wiser, I think,
So this problem is one I'll address.
But how, you might ask, are you going to do it?
It's a secret that I won't confess.
Remember the host of the show Double Dare?
His OCD made him obsess.
But part of his job was that bucket of slime,
An awfully messy process.
And what, you might ask, is my bucket of slime,
The thing that will cause me distress?
Still not telling, I say, it's my own little secret.
But I wink as I boldly profess.
I'm in love with the concept of freeing myself
From this longing that I should repress.
I'm throwing the rulebook right out of the window
I don't care if I make a mess.
I need a fucking bucket of slime.
Thank you to AMoveableBeast for pulling that one out of me.
The carousel goes round and round.
Horses moving up and down.
The organ makes its happy sound.
While she rides the horse of brown.
Why not choose the horse of white?
I guess it didn't feel quite right.
White is for the girls so bright,
The ones who always get it right.
This girl always gets it wrong.
She knows she does not belong.
Says the wrong thing, says it strong.
Then she worries all night long.
Her thoughts are cycling through her head
As the madness starts to spread.
What did she do to cause her dread?
I can't imagine what she said.
Anxiety has taken hold.
Her chaos cannot be controlled.
I try to grab her hand, so cold.
I don't deserve it, she is told.
Why does she always feel so guilty?
Follows all the rules to a tee.
Disorder makes it hard to see
What a strong girl she could be.
The carousel just keeps on spinning.
Thoughts so dark are always winning.
Stomach into knots is twisting.
Her mind is reaching out for something
On which to pin this anxiousness,
This never ending sense of stress.
Even if it is baseless,
It makes her feel completely worthless.
These circular thoughts keep her down,
Keep her peace from being found.
To her anxious feelings bound,
Stuck on this fucking merry-go-round.