Alene Terzian: Not a Love Poem #18: Confessions of a Neurotic

I am that girl who carries hand sanitizer,
wet wipes, Airborne tablets, who squats
in public toilets, wears socks to bed,
monitors the color of urine.

I confess I have baggage enough
for several households. I bake cakes
at 4 a.m.: marble and devil’s food,
banana bread, ginger spice, and walnut.

I vacuum until lines appear on every
surface—linear right angles on sofa
cushions, ironed bed sheets,
and de-linted pillow cases.

If I were to see a therapist, she would
identify my neuroses as vital hindrances
to healthy living. She would medicate
and reprimand, get me to make lists,

classifying each breach in normalcy
as a result of an Electra or Oedipal Complex,
a lack of behavior modification, family
neglect, abandonment, trust.


Copyright Alene Terzian. Used here by kind permission of the author.