OCD- The Way I Like It

I've got the world charmed down to perfection,
Except for when things escape the lines.
I'm constantly controlled by the simplest impulse,
It fuels me, slowly consuming me.

So my finger reaches for the "open" button,
Before the microwave emits a monotone.
And when I'm too late, I freeze in position;
It's homestly too much to handle.

So my dripping hands grasp towel afetr towel-
All four must succumb to my robotic touch.
The stiff fabric creases under my pressure,
Under my control- the way I like it.

So I rearrange my markers for the fourth time today,
Hoping to finally get the spectrum right.
Red, orange, yellow... my monotonous pattern-
It takes hold of the colors before they live.

So I scope out my 27 tea candles,
And ensure that all their wicks face west.
The colors must be uniform, a pattern created.
One out of place disturbs my day.

So I rehearse that boring conversation-
Yes, the one that hasn't happened yet,
So I'm carefully coordinated.
(Although the words are never perfect.)

So I jot down this poetry, my only escape.
The words bend just right to my touch.
The pen flows, my paper fills...
And it's just the way I like it.