Mentally in order. 1.

He was an organizer.

He keeps his bed clean,

His washroom sparkly and,

His house squeaky clean.

Everything is in order.

The colors of his curtains,

Varies, but still in the same tone of his marble floor.

His utensils are all in silver. No gold.

Super-duper, arranged.

His house was ethereally, scarily,

In place.

“He has OCD”

“Isn’t that a disorder?”

“Can we still talk to him”

“Does that make him a psycho?”

Words and questions were thrown,

Every day, from every angle.

“Is it my fault that I checked multiple times?”

“Is it my fault that I want everything clean, organized?”

“Am I a freak for being who I am?”

Were the questions he has,

Every minute, from every corner.

He is said to have OCD,

Obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Such a long name to memorize.

Did he ever asked to feel the way he feel,

Towards unorganized things?

Towards things that he might forget?

Of course, no.

What makes it a disorder?

Doctors? Anxiety?

Meds? Rehabs?

He wonders,

Because he felt completely fine with it.

He was living.

But faceless people,

Nameless people,

Called him freak for things,

He felt perfectly fine with.

Normal.

Who’s the one with a disorder?

What qualifies a person to be ‘Mentally in Order’?

Qissy