Wrote my very first poem about OCD

I am no beekeeper

The swarm of bees in my skull makes me feel ravaged.

I know they are there – even if they stay still. 

Like the distant relative that stays in your guestroom for the holidays.

Can’t you feel them? Listening through the walls.

There isn’t ever a truly quiet moment. 

Even in sleep, I hear them breathing.

Waiting to sting.

The silence isn’t still. I am anticipating them, studying them.

If I learn what they want from me, maybe I can get rid of them.

So I do what they want. 

I perform their tasks before they can ask. 

No slip-ups.

No mistakes.

No mishaps. 

But why are they still stinging?

Why do they keep adding new tasks?

Does this ever end?

But now I understand. 

They don’t want to leave.

They don’t even want to be put at ease.

They want to be fed. 

But I am no beekeeper.

I am the hive.

Note: “I am no beekeeper” is my very first poem and is about the feeling of living with OCD. My goal was to invoke the feelings of OCD without saying it out loud or even hinting at it so the reader doesn’t develop their own preconceived notions or stereotypes while reading. These feelings are horrifying and are never truly put to ease, and I wanted this poem to carry that unease. I would love to hear your thoughts!