See all of Dissociate
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Mon Apr 03 2017 at 15:30:29
Once upon a time
no wait, I think that
except, maybe it
No, I was outside,
playing baseball on
a grass green field.
But other people
say I was there.
My memory is
was that two strikes,
or another foul ball?
Why are they foul
poles instead of fair?
Because life isn't princess.
Pink skin, swelling, welted, belted.
Of course bad things
have happened to me.
Do you think I'm living
in a state of denial?
Who can recall every
detail? Am I hallucinating?
Imagining blood on the floor?
Blades and stains, I have both.
would choose real razors over
Where was I?
Hmm, let me think,
that's a good question.
remember the sky,
that part is clear.
It was rapidly turning
angry colors, warning me.
I was unsafe. I had to
down the third base line.
Voices in my head
are criticizing me,
while the game unfolds.
There's a runner at first,
the first base coach stands
near the umpire, "Hey Blue!"
the game freezes
when my reality intrudes. Dread.
, until the game begins again.
But I'm not worried.
That game is always going.
Nobody wins because
nobody ever loses.
Where is this game?
Funny you should ask.
I don't really know.
It's right there, but
nobody can see it,
except, for me.
Why would you do
this to yourself?
Escape to a place
that doesn't really exist?
What is real? Emerald blades,
white chalk lines, metal spikes,
digging into the dirt,
heading to second, third,
almost home, a collision.
Fractured fibula? Stop crying.
Three strikes and you're out,
those are the rules of the game.
But when your dad is chasing you
and your mom is shrieking,
telling you over and over again
that you are just like your father,
he's not the bad guy, you are,
but she doesn't listen, doesn't
believe that I need a hug, it hurts,
please stop, give me the game.
Disassociation is an unhealthy
coping mechanism. I learned
this skill as a child, who was forced
to eat soap, she burned my ear,
when it was infected. My dad
took me in, I drank the powders
they gave me, the pain receded,
only to bloom again when
I least expected it. Please, I
where are the adults
This past Friday I fell asleep
in my own bed, woke up when my
daughter was shaking, I knew she
was scared, she wouldn't tell me why.
I heard pounding on the door, I sleep
with my phone under my pillow,
I set my alarm so I know when I can
get out of bed, until then I stay.
Should I call 911? It's just my mom.
Unfortunately for me, that's the problem.
The women at work don't understand
why I like
a guy who smokes
But when I went in to figure out my phone
situation he listened to me. Made me feel safe.
That's the key to me. What is money without
health? Who can you run to when you're
crying on the inside? Who will love you tenderly?
Hold you, wipe your tears away,
as if you were a baby
drive the demons away, so for once you can watch one game
at a time knowing both runners will be safe once they are home.
This is a problem. I'm dealing with,
living on borrowed time. Therapy,
new clothes, write poetry,
it helps, kind of, or does it?
Am I just rehashing the past,
Depriving my daughters of the
mother they could have? One
who is active and involved,
that doesn't live her life
one third of an inning at a time.
Take me out to the ballgame
Please. If you won't,
someone else will.
The guy who sleeps in loge seats,
hundreds of dollars wasted on
merchandise. Food, jerseys,
hats. One says Jessica J.
I bought a pink one for my
Maybe one day we can go to a game,
that everyone can see, together.
I like it!
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