Posted in Haiku Haven

World’s End

A haiku on post-war destruction…

World’s End
By: Anita Marie

Children and women
At the verge of a world’s end
Unlikely to mend

Posted in Random Poems I Find Meaningful


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.

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

Posted in Poems about my Health


If you’ve ever wondered what an Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder is, its a perfectionist’s illness, very different from the popular Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Actually, I believe it deserves a better definition than that. It’s layers and layers thick but I can’t go on about it. I’m not very good at explaining medical conditions nor am I good at conveying how it feels like to have OCPD. However, this is my attempt of having others understand what is it that people with OCPD suffer with. I’m sure it differs from person to person but their stories, you can hear from them. I’m Anita Marie and this is my story.

By: Anita Marie

No one knows what I face every morning
No one knows I take bruises from a beating
A beating every morning that’s invisible to the eye
A beating every morning that prevents me from rising up from my bed left my soul battered and red

If you were to choose, a public attack or a no-show?
If you were to choose, perfection or a zero?
These simple questions occur inside my mind
It’s not that terrifying until it crosses the line between what you can make and what you can take

Again and again and again and again
A cycle? A routine? A repetition?
How long will this last?
Will I make it with my heart beating this fast?

All my life, I’ve always thought people liked being perfect
I’ve always thought people hated things with defects
No mistakes, all in one take
Delicately put together like icing on a cake

It’s not that I don’t appreciate areas for improvement
Because according to my beliefs, we all have some of them
But was I wrong to assume that everyone was perfect but me?
Was I wrong thinking that if I did what I itched to do, I would be free?

No. I prolonged my agony
And I may never escape this enemy
This enemy who conquered reality
Who I later found out was just me

I was the one doing the thinking
I was the one who was doing the overthinking
Also I gave in to what I call procrastinating
Thinking distracting myself was stress relieving

But the truth is, my heart pounds
So loud that you could hear its sound
Lub dub lub dub, it travels to my ears
And then it begins, I start thinking about my fears

I let out a small scream excusing it as excitement
But this front I put up is just one big curtain
To cover my trembling hands that just want to reach out
And to hide the identity of a voice desperately crying so loud

I’m not a mistake, I tell myself
I’m not a failure, I assure myself again
It’s okay, girl, it’s okay
Take a deep breath

I try to talk sense into thoughts that have dominated the show
As a therapist, it’s now between what I feel versus what I know
These voices are my voices and I can’t control them
Me and me, how wrong is this tandem?

When I asked for help, I knew what it meant
Some medications, a stigma, and an amusement
Despite that, I can say I’ve grown a bit
And maybe, soon, my life’s gonna be lit

But now, at this very moment, I still wonder
How long will I keep hearing the rain’s thunder?
What can I do rather than closing my eyes so I can’t see the lightning?
Will I ever transcend through this and alter my thinking?

No one knows

No one knows what I face every morning
No one knows about my bruises from these beatings
But I know what it feels like
I know what it looks like
I know how it sounds and I know what it’s like
Only I know cause it’s me
And yet, only I can set myself free