Cacoethes and What Counts

It’s my own pathetic obsession.
It’s not original,
Not even mildly unique;
But to a person as myself,
It’s an antithetic experience to my personality.
 
It’s something both accepted,
And greatly frowned upon.
It must be hidden from the public’s eye;
And there’s no forum for me to share this on.
 
It disgusts even me;
As told by the physical evidence.
The stomach clenching,
Frame shaking,
Thought engulfing ashamedness
 
And I’m such hypocrite,
That if another were to express,
A similar taste,
With or without the same distress,
I’d comfort them with a gentleness,
That I’ve never used on myself.
 
This dangerous obsession of mine,
Has got me hanging precariously,
On the very edge of my identity.
I’m questioning myself.
And I’ll tell myself one last time:
 
That Who I am,
Is not defined by my actions alone.
My feelings,
My thoughts,
They count as well.