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A poem about OCD

You might think I'm weird, you might think I'm strange,
But really, this is the thing that keeps me sane,
Things have to be straight, things have to be clean,
I do it to help, but people can be mean.
They don't understand me, don't even try,
everytime they laugh another part of me dies,
All I ever wanted, was for them to accept,
but now they're too late, I've already left. 

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