My Body and Me: A Poem

There’s a disconnect

Between my body and me It all began at birth Within a sliver of a moon’s phase There was a chasm A bloody, brutal war Between my spirit and its vessel I’ve been on a goose chase For decades since Eagerly collecting every ounce Of myself I could find Amidst the ashes and debris With the intentions of Reuniting my mind, body & spirit But as with most battles Bombs continued to fall So I’ve learned to always Be on the defense Expecting tragedy, seeking Refuge in peril Because that is where My war zone Became a comfort zone Refusal to fall Into the safe house of Hope. I saved energy, always Expecting the worst, begging for A battle. Because if I expect these raids I’ll never be Victim of the blitzkrieg That contentment can create But an army always prepared For war, runs out of sustenance Remarkably quickly And so I’ve been at a shortage For years. Starving in the barracks Front line weakening, ever so slowly Every so often, we call a truce Removing the molding, gouged bodies From the battlefields Giving ourselves a tease Of peace. But as I collect the fallen I recognize just how similar These opponents are I see myself in them. I invite their pain Their love, their desires, inside I see myself in every bloodied, Battered corpse But then the horn sounds And I retrace my steps Each footprint forward Erased in the mud and blood Lost in the suffering of Each of my soldiers And grappling for the pieces of me Strewn across the battlefield And embedded, like shrapnel Into my enemies I continue the cycle Of murder, loss and pain Eagerly searching for a white flag That I’ve refused to throw Looking at my dwindling men Our inability to defeat the enemy And their unwillingness to budge I finally call for a ceasefire And as I shake the hand of The other commanding officer The blood strewn battlefield The canvas of guts, fire and pillaging I notice I was never fighting the enemy I was warring with my own traumas And this armistice Allows me to collect Each dismembered limb And thought and wound And return home While I trudge home Dragging my pain and pieces In my wake I notice that maybe, just maybe I am complete once more

Maybe its not about reconnecting

My soul with its original vessel But accepting and admiring the Brutality that got me here And assembling a new home One with an ode to my past A room for healing And doors left ajar Encouraging light

To enter once more.

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