I composed this poem a few years ago about my undiagnosed disorder, it isn’t actually that bad or at least I don’t think so. Here’s how I feel:

Some find it strange

That I choose to arrange

An array of bottles

With precisionary accuracy

Though it’s a decision that taxes me

But what they lack to see

Is that this disease

I’m set to appease

By my Feng Shui decrees

Is simply defined OCD.

However, it’s more than that to me.

An Urge I cannot purge

Because it surges

And quivers my nerves

To irate-ness

Correcting the mess

before me.

If it’s obsessively disorderly,

I’m compelled to re-order it,

On a cusp & border

I feel restricted- commanding

My thoughts constricted

I can’t pipe no wind

The noose too tight

To breathe

My tactical placement,

To you an abasement

To me a release.


Revered Mettle

This is a poem for the revolutionaries in the Arab world (Egypt, Libya, Syria, Tunisia & Yemen). A testament to your continued strength in deposing corruption and oppressive leaders. I hope for your success.


If you invite to compare your artillery,

To my simple pen and word,

I will host your invitation,

I commit you to meet your Lord!

& behind this revered prose

Is something you fail to possess:

Fervour in abundance

Make your weapons seem much less.

Even if you paint the earth

With the blood inside my body,

Then you’ve only paved the way

For a part of revolution and history.

Because freedom is on the cusp

Of rattling your cage,

And I swear by the Almighty

You should never have written that page.

It will drive you to your borders

And walking on the brink,

So for each of you that passes,

Means that oppression is nearer extinct.