Posted in Random Poems I Find Meaningful

If I Died Today

People come and go exactly when they’re supposed to. For some of us, it may be years in the future. For some, it could be moments away. So, I just thought, if my time came, how would I greet death? How about my funeral? What kind of story did I want to leave behind?

If I Died Today
By: Anita Marie

If I died today, instead of black, I want everyone in pink
Instead of a eulogy, I want a room full of music
If I had to hold flowers, I want them to be roses
And when I close my eyes, I want my favorite dark brown eyeliner on them

If I died today, I want it to be because I outlived my legacy
Because of a lack of sleep and a worn out resiliency
Passion is dangerous and ambition is too
But I swear I’d rather die trying to reach them

If I died today, my mom would be filled with worry
And I’d want my organs taken out in a hurry
To heal all those who I’ve never met before
To give them the second chance I never got to have

If I died today, I want one last chance to show the world who I am
My corpse would be burnt for reasons my loved ones would understand
My ashes buried with a tree seedling ready to grow
From my ashes, new life will rise giving meaning to this world

Posted in Haiku Haven

Digital

Technology in a haiku…

Digital
By: Anita Marie


Digital heaven
Likes, comments, sharing, and friends
Obsessed with pretend

Posted in Random Poems I Find Meaningful

The Old Observation Exercise

This is a poem about how an assignment a few years back gave me some meaningful insights. I love this exercise, by the way.

The Old Observation Exercise
By: Anita Marie

You have 10 minutes to just sit down and look at your surroundings
That’s an exercise my professor came up with for us to practice observation skills
But 2 years after the exercise was first given, I start doing it again

Someone’s reciting while studying, another’s shifting through his phone
A barista laughs, two people are buried deep in a conversation
A child finishes her cookie, a guy passes by checking if there are any more seats

It’s all a matter of just paying attention and listening to them
You’d be surprised at the little details you can pick up that way
She’s 12, he’s an architect, she once failed a test, he’s openly gay

Their emotions show on their faces and their stories unveil themselves
He’s been hurt, she’s been back stabbed, he’s had an awesome day
And they smile at you knowingly as if they’ve made up your story too

It’s fun being someone else other than yourself at times
You get to run and hide without any attachments
No regrets, just almost-friends in passing during these solitary moments

Others think you’re the type to order a frappe on a sunny day
Some think you’re too greedy for an outlet even if you got there first
But there are some who knows that you have your stories too

It’s all just so amusing yet lonely, simple yet lovely
Imagine the countless stories that happen inside this small coffee shop
You’d imagine millions, all with different plot twists and genres

As you can tell, I enjoy doing this exercise and I indeed do it often
It makes me realize I’m not the only person in the world who’s rocking the universe
We have all these familiar strangers, and they all have different stories to tell

Posted in Poems about Relationships

A Good Man

This is an appreciation poem for the person that made my heart flutter for the first time. We met when we were kids then quickly became friends and I, as a kid would do, told him I liked him. It’s embarrassing even until this day and when I finally thought I would never see him again, we kept crossing paths in college. Now that I’m older, I’ve realized that we played each others’ roles in our lives perfectly and his role in mine happens to be being my first love, which I’m thankful for. He grew up to be a good man and I’m happy I didn’t have a bad taste in boys when I was younger. It’s still a cute and happy story to tell.

A Good Man
By: Anita Marie

He was my first love, my puppy love
And he made my first taste of love so wonderful I never hated him
No, to me, he deserved a poem of his own
A beautiful one that highlighted who he was

I don’t have good poems nor stories
But I have the skill of appreciating him cause he is a good man
With hidden ambitions he made himself a name
Self-made, established, and yet humble with his state

You made my heart flutter the first time
It wasn’t because of how you looked like or the way you carried yourself
It was what you did that made me see so clearly
Kindness, discipline, aspects of a good person

When I told you I liked you a lot
I was a child that did things without thinking first and it embarrassed me
You set it aside and went on being my friend
Without giving false hope or animosity

Eventually, we went separate ways
I still remembered back then what a wonderful person you really were
Years of growth had put a distance between ourselves
And we both existed in different dimensions

However, we crossed each other’s path
You made me smile again like I did the first time, the same way you made me
Please don’t get this wrong, I’m not holding on to you
It brought me back to the sweet memories I have

And I just would like to say thank you
For teaching me how to feel and showing an example of a good man
Thank you for being my first taste of sweetness and
Thank you for being there and for being a friend

Posted in Random Poems I Find Meaningful

Skin, Blood, Heart, and Soul

If you saw my About page on this website, you’ll remember I mentioned having science running in my blood but having a soul hungry for the arts. It’s an internal struggle at times. I’m good at science, math, and perceptual ability. My hobbies include puzzles like tangrams, sudoku, and strategy board games like the Game of Generals. However, even if I thrive in the logical world, they can never satisfy my soul. I’m not an artist. I don’t know how to draw or write but I love literature, I love history and culture. It’s a clash of interests which always makes me crave for more than I need. But I guess, that’s who I am.

Skin, Blood, Heart, and Soul
By: Anita Marie

When I was a child, I loved crayons
Especially that 68 crayon set I had my eyes on
Just cause it had the color flesh and the color gold
Both colors I’ve ignored as I grew old

My mom, she liked it that I loved coloring
I decorate her cards with blues, yellows and pink
Still, I feel like the flowers I’ve drawn can never conceal
The empty white spaces that are yet to be filled

So I stopped coloring, just so
Instead, shifted my attention to what I know
People say science run in my blood and it courses through my veins
No one thought I’d look at graffiti or decorated pots of porcelain

But people always assume what they want
They carve you into a masterpiece for fun
Artists in their own right, with words coloring your being
Regardless of what you felt or what you’re thinking

Art. Literature. Pieces eternalized by the renaissance
Yet my hunger for the arts did not fit me so I kept my distance
To be honest, I can’t draw, and I can’t write
I only put words together and out of spite

Because of the thousands of feelings I feel inside
A longing for the unknown is something I cannot hide
So I keep books, stories and poetry all the same
To feed this half-artist, half-scientist-ish brain

Austen. Shakespeare. Lewis Caroll.
Sun Tzu. Dickens. And George Orwell
Why do they make me feel so alive?
Why do they give me the energy to survive?

Questions that formulas cannot answer
Despite the calculations and the help of a tutor
We can search galaxies but it can never explain why
Because our souls are honest and they cannot lie

My skin is a canvas, yet it’s colored flesh
My blood is science, so alive and fresh
My heart is fragile, yet it’s made of gold
My soul is a story, just waiting to be told

Posted in Poems about my Health

Armor Plate

My first poem on this site talked about what suffering from OCPD felt like. This poem I wrote talks about how it changed my entire life. How it contributed to the greatest failure I’ve experienced, and how it altered my resolve. I’m still ambitious. I will continue to be. But for now, this is my story.

Armor Plate
By: Anita Marie

There are 2 kinds of people in this world:
the survivors and the achievers
For 20 years of my life, I’ve built up the reputation of being the latter
Smart, endearing, self-sustaining, with a golden resolve
A hunger for a legacy over something I really loved

But OCPD hit me, and it hit me real hard in the head
I’ve avoided too much blaming it but I did it instead
Why is fate cruel to me? Why does this exist?
Did I end up on the naughty side of the naughty or nice list?

I’m the kind of person who never had to show her tears in public
I usually put up a front and play some of my favorite music
To drown the sorrow I feel inside my heart
To ignore the emotions tearing me apart

Bits and into pieces, my heart went
My confidence and pride both so bent
On the verge of being broken, I still attempt to stand
Even when my feet has been struggling with the quicksand

If I was healthy, would I be better?
If I was healthy, would none of it matter?
My superiors call me lazy, my colleagues call me stressed
I do have something playing with my mind but I’m not depressed

I still crave the glory my former self worked on
I still enjoy the sunsets and trips filled with fun
My scars are many, this isn’t my first
I’ll keep fighting until I quench my thirst

A waste of talent, they called me
A failed prodigy, they saw me
No one continued to see me as an achiever
Thinking I ended up becoming a sore loser

But no, this is not my end
And I’ll tell you things I’ve learned, my friend
Challenges are there for a purpose
It’s the challenge of trying not to lose your focus

But all of that takes a really long time
I’ll disappear gathering what was mine
I’m gonna fade for a moment or two
But I swear, I will be back soon

I will be back again with a hunger for glory
I will be back so to those I’ve wronged, I’m sorry
I will be back so just you all wait
I will be back a survivor with an armor plate

Posted in Poems about Relationships

10 Reasons

Before I dated my ex, we were close friends. Back then, he gave 10 really specific reasons why he wouldn’t date someone like me and it consisted of the imperfections I had like my issues and stuff. I thought it was unfair cause he only gave me 2 really superficial reasons why guys should date me. Later did any of us know that we’d play a bigger role than friends in our lives. Although it has ended, I liked the story of how it started, how it begun. I think it’s a beautiful process. Good things come to an abrupt and tragic end but that’s another poem.

10 Reasons
By: Anita Marie

At the beginning, he gave me 10 reasons why he shouldn’t date me
I’m too boring, I’m weird, I’m a bit crazy
I have issues and I’m too ambitious to want to leave a legacy
All these imperfections of me, he could see clearly

When I asked him if he had a list on why he should date me
There were only 2: I wore glasses and I had a husky
Barely reasonable reasons and I appreciate the honesty
But seriously? Glasses and a husky? That’s all he could see?

Okay fine, forgiven, besides it’s not like I’m ever gonna date him
He’s moody, just as crazy, with no passion to win
He’s my friend, and the chances of us dating are slim
So why should I bother unless feelings start to begin

Uh, to my surprise, they begun too soon
Yes, destiny, I am questioning you
Why did you send over that moon
That made him think our love was to bloom?

What happened to that 10 reasons he gave me without second guesses?
What happened to number 7, the part where I’m full of distresses?
Did he really forget I can be easily stressed?
That I stress over simple things like how to get dressed?

Most of all, where did these feelings come from?
I need a clear, precise and logical explanation
Is this pity? Flattery? Or a mutual admiration
Can I go on escaping his gestures and love declarations?

Then I realized, I had to give in to it
Love cannot choose who you fit
And for him, I chose to put aside my wit
To just sit down and enjoy the trip

Posted in Random Poems I Find Meaningful

Pain

When you’re working in the medical field, like I am, you get a lot of patients dealing with pain, the physical kind of pain. As a therapist, I also get to work with people who experience the worst kind of pain, psychogenic pain. With exposure like this, I’ve always wondered about how pain is a dimension of its own and how diverse that dimension is. So, this poem shows my struggle as I try to map out the concept of pain.

Pain
By: Anita Marie

Is it pain that I truly feel inside?
Is it pain that I desperately hide?
But what is pain, exactly, what’s it like?
Is it just a feeling you get after losing fights?

Let’s check the dictionary
Not that it hasn’t been bothering me
It’s listed here with its respective meaning
Pain is a physical or mental suffering

Suffering, you say? Is that really pain?
Having to feel it, is it a boon or a bane?
A boon to let us know that something’s amiss
A bane to cry about seeing monsters in the mist

It might be a mix of both but what pain really is? It’s subjective.
It’s something that makes us confused, down, and overprotective
Of our thoughts, actions, and the words we say
We also fear the judgement that comes along the way

It may be a tummy ache or an impending heart break
Sometimes it’s all real, sometimes it’s all fake
A familiar stranger and a distant friend
It comes and goes, starts and ends

But what pain is, pain gets
Like city lights and how they make a mess
Never letting us look up to see the stars we love
Making our heads look down rather than up above

And what pain is, it gives
Proof that a person truly lives
Helping us understand that there is more to the world
And that because of it, I am not an ordinary girl

I have experienced pain for what it was
And it wasn’t as easy as it is to make a fuss
About the controversy of feeling this way
Of going through the necessary suffering it awakes

My strength

So, I thank my pain
It’s my greatest gain
And it will forever remain
Attached to my name