Personal Stories Intro Personal Stories  1   2   3   Poetry   Art  OCD Humor

   My Dragon and Me.
   A Day In My Life.

OCD Poetry.


I was told it was a "disorder."
I said "I'm just different"; that's not what they thought-
So here is my story of no little importance,
And a view of the dragon I 'fought".

I saw It as a dragon to be wrestled
Or at the very least to be controlled;
I felt this dragon chase me and it scared me;
I spent a lot of time just running away.
They said I had a problem, and named it
Discussed it, explained it, said it could be handled.
They taught me to fight it, gave me tools to do so.
Now armed with swords to fight my labeled dragon
They told me "Kill it; find it and destroy it."
For years it scared me, too much to face it
Until a few years back, when I did.

I stopped my running, to let the dragon find me.
It did, one night, and I drew my sword.
But something stopped me from attacking; its stare.
I saw an image in its shining gaze that pierced me;
A thing that made me drop my sword and weep-
It was my reflection staring back at me,
My image mirrored in its glistening eyes.
And suddenly I saw everything clearly-
All this time I was fighting with myself,
Which was a battle I could never win.
I saw that it's frightful claws were only as sharp
As the terrible hate I felt for it all of these years,
And my Dragon only had as many teeth
As the number of times it was ignored or slighted.
That night I dropped my armor, and reached out with trust;
I leaned against my Dragon and could feel its strength.

So now I know it didn't want to hurt me-
It wasn't out to get me, but needed my love.
It was never trying to kill me, because it was me;
A crucial part that could heal maybe more than hurt.
I see, of course it's not always easy to handle,
And sometimes don my armor against the pain-
But I've resisted temptation to use my sword.
It's the Best of me, the Worst of me, combined;
I need it as much as it is needed by me.
I found the good times better, the hard times less hard
The day I found a myself in my Dragon.

Though to some I am unique in my thinking
There is little I truly have to hide-
We all have our dragons though some don't have labels;
And it's good to have a Dragon on your Side.


Top of Page.


Cleaning the bathroom, I shine all the chrome,
Killing the germs, with my scrubbing bubbles foam.
No smudge or smear, can be left on the glass,
Just not acceptable, considered no class.

I step back to check the mirror from every angle,
And even up the towels, from the bars where they dangle.
The ceramic tile, reflects my round face,
Two bathrooms to go, must keep up the pace.

Fluffing the throw rugs, as I exit the room,
But have to go pee, so back in I zoom.
Now once again, I must fluff all the rugs,
The footprints I've left, have just got me bugged.

Finally, I may now depart, off to the next bathroom,
Where my detailing will start. I repeat these rituals,
Till all bathrooms are clean, but hurrying and hoping,
Some sun I might glean.

Dusting and polishing, every nook and cranny,
Hope this will take, some weight off my fanny.
Straighten the bedspread, pick lint off the rug,
Vacuum the bedroom, give the bedspread a tug,

No footprints left, as I back out the room,
But the bedspread still crooked, so back in I zoom.
To straighten the bedspread, and get it just right,
Much time has passed, but oh, what a sight!

Now I must vacuum, the room once again,
To make it just perfect, and neat as a pin.
From my room, to Tanya's, then Teisha's I go.
Repeating these rituals, and frustrated so.

But downstairs, there's still so much I must do,
Vacuuming, dusting and straightening too.
Then a phone call, from a dear friend,
Asking for time, with me to spend.

But of course, accepting an invite to lunch,
Would put my housecleaning rituals, in a time crunch.
So, "Not today", I must reply,
But sadly feeling, life's passing me by.

A slave to these rituals, day after day,
Someone, please help me, please, help me, I pray.
Aligning and ordering, to get things just right,
So everything's perfect, by the end of the night.

No lint balls or dust balls, anywhere to be found,
No specks on the carpet, no laundry around.
The floors have all, been washed and waxed,
Now energy's fading, my body's been taxed.

Cleaning frustratingly, on and on,
The clock keeps ticking, the sun almost gone.
And tomorrow I'll rise, and do it all again,
The battle keeps raging, but I'm determined to win.

In come my husband, and girls from their day,
Home to the showroom, or museum, as they say.
Worried that they, might mess something up,
I watch every move, and follow behind like a pup.

The home and safe haven, I thought I had made,
Has now become prison, the foundation is laid.
Now undoing this structure, brick by brick,
Will take some work, and a little trick.

I call this OCD, problem I have,
"High Standards" and "Protector," they're my little lads.
My goal will be, to lovingly train,
These unruly children, that drive me insane.
I'll love them tenderly, but keep them in line,
And when they step out, I'll train them to mind!

Copyright 2000 Kimberly D. Thompson.
Visit her OCD& Poetry HomePage for more Poems.

Top of Page.

        Top Of The Page.