"there’s nothing abnormal about waking up at 2 a.m.to the sound of pots and pans hitting the..."

“

there’s nothing abnormal about waking up at 2 a.m.

to the sound of pots and pans hitting the floor,

going into the cabinet, cupboards, drawers,

anywhere but on the kitchen counter or in the sink.

i hear the sound of my father telling my mother

to come back to bed, that she has to get up

in three hours and no amount of coffee

will help her throughout the day.

i don’t hear anything from my mothers mouth

but knowing her i know the look in her eyes,

telling my father what he should already know

but him being too tired to remember.

this is what obsessive compulsive disorder

sounds like and there is nothing romantic,

funny, envious or lucky about it.


i’ve smelt the fumes of bleach more than

i have baked goods and this is not a poem

about me missing my childhood

because my mother was much too busy

wipping imaginary stains from the floor

instead of the tears from my face,

but a poem about how she considers herself

normal instead of obsessive and particular.

this is a poem about everyone always

telling me that i am lucky that my house

is always so clean and how they wish

their mother would clean their room

when they weren’t there.

And even though I know that she

isn’t cleaning the mess in my room

but the mess in her own mind,

I just wish she knew that no amount

of damp rags and sweeper chords

will ever help sort out the piles

of disorganized thoughts in her head.


this is a poem about loving my mother

although she has called me a slob

more than she has said that she is proud

of me, or how i can never do anything right

but i know, i fucking know that she wishes

for one moment she could stop cleaning up

and listen but she just can’t

and even though she wants to, her hands

just won’t give her a break.


this a poem about how OCD comes

in any form and how you don’t have to

turn the lights on and off for it to be real

or for you to not be pretending.


this is a poem about living with a parent

who is OCD and still loving the parts of them

that they don’t even know are messier

than the inside of their own immaculate home.”

- "On living with a parent with OCD" - Colleen Brown