"disassociation" poems
It's the start of the school
year and everyone's
milling about
socializing
Water particles
Milling about
forming
and breaking
hydrogen bonds
There's a group of
new kids,
awkwardly standing
off to the side
A large crystal
of salt
is dumped among
the
water
Some of the old kids
start milling
over pulling
new kids
into
their friend
groups
The water starts
bonding with
individual
ions of salt
positive with negative
negative with positive
pulling them
away
to form
bonds
Eventually all the
new kids are
incorporated into
friend groups
The lattice of salt
is broken apart
...
And all the individual ions
are surrounded
by
new
friends
Known as H2O
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 7:23 PM UTC
Gravity is not my friend.
It forgets from time to time
To do its job and keep my two feet
Planted firmly on the ground.
I can’t seem to get around
Invisible stumbling blocks,
Tripping over my own two feet,
Knocking into things just by
Walking in a straight line.
Gravity is lazy,
Wanting only to do the bare minimum.
It makes my chest feel heavy when
I lay down but if I close my eyes
I feel my own untethered soul
Float up into the ceiling
And hide amongst the water pipes.
Sometimes, I think gravity gets scared
When I wish myself into something
Scattered brain and disconnected
Disassociation, depersonalization,
Derealization—these side effects on the bottle
They’re all taunting gravity
And gravity runs to hide,
Knocking me off balance and
Up the stairs and skinning my knees
And sometimes I don’t even know I’m bleeding
But sometimes gravity fights back
And my feet are stuck to the ground
My limbs can’t seem to move, my
Head feels like a hundred pounds
My body aches until I lay down
And sink into the carpet.
Sometimes I wonder if you feel it too
If gravity and you are on the odds as well
With all your liquid confidence
And substances to keep you happy
And your tales of falling down stairs—
You fall down, I fall up.
We bob together in a sea of regret
And change and past and
Present and future and lust
And hate but most of all love
Nursing our wounds through
Self medication until a very fed up gravity
Pushes us down, down down down.
Sometimes I think if gravity
Were a little more benevolent
We’d never have hit
These bumps in the road.
I could stay grounded,
Feet planted firmly.
You could stay buoyant
Far above the surface.
But no,
Gravity is a very fickle beast.
And as you’re leading me
Back to my room
For one last goodnight kiss
I trip
And float away.
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 11:51 PM UTC
Dysphoria, what does it feel like?
They sigh, trying to find a single sentence for years of caged silence.
Identity: Female
Stuck in the wrong way
To me it’s a sense of nothing will ever be right
The feeling of being in extreme danger
Like you’re about to die
Identity: Male
All I can say is
This isn’t me
The feeling is a long and windy explanation of
Disassociation
There are things about me that I don’t associate with myself
And it’s weird and confusing
When I become aware of them
Identity: **** A drag queen? Trans fluid.
Dysphoria...
It's a lot like,
Anger,
Betrayal,
An itch
Like a really itchy sweater,
You can’t take it off
And the longer you have to wear it the worse it gets
You start to hate yourself because
You’re the one that put the sweater on in the first place
They say we are ill
Broken
******
***
“Butch”
It’s not correct
When they say it’s their right to say those
That’s when I get mad
If there is no way to make the mind conform to the body
You must make the body conform to the mind
If they think it’s their right to tell other people that their identity is wrong,
Then they are ill and broken
They have no f**king clue
And I know,
I can’t tell them they’re wrong
Without telling them why
But I realize
Explaining this is futile
With closed minded people
Bathrooms need to change, Health care needs to change, Identification needs to change
People are forced to “pick one”
Trans-phobia shouldn’t be tolerated
Mental health care shouldn’t be because it’s a “defect”
Social pressure, Internalized oppression, Abuse,
Shouldn’t
Be
Tolerated
Politicians have got it the wrong way around
One in two transgender persons have experienced ****** assault
One. In. Two.
They say, “We don’t want men undercover spying on our women and children”
You think they are in there to spy or ****
Name more than two cases in the last 25 years
Where a transgender person has sexually abused a woman in the ladies bathroom
You can’t
But give me five minutes, and I can come up with five to eight names of transgender people
That have been assaulted in bathrooms since 2019 started
But our Pride cannot be destroyed
It’s our strength
A feeling of belonging
A belief that we can change this
We are not alone.
We Are Not Alone.
YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 5:27 PM UTC
Sometimes when I rise out of the nebulosity of my ego, I can see dead leaves on the ground.
Above I feel formless, Uncrippled by any precursing contingencies.
Disturbances are nullified by the rising and falling of my breath.
I am no longer a keeper of anything.
I feel as I've been left to float inside a vacuum that requires the complete disassociation from anything that I have ever known.
Everything here is gentle, && welcomed.
vibrant and healing.
perplexing to those that aren't ready to let go, salvation for the many who are.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
I am soft and mandible:
fresh clay, the inside of an oyster, the belly of an armadillo.
vulnerable. tender. the anti-sharp.
everything is blurred. dulled. hidden
behind a gossamer haze and ambient noise.
a photo out of focus. one eye closed and ten feet back.
dizzy. so dizzy. disoriented.
there is no logic here. no rules. no laws.
and that’s what makes it horrible and incomprehensible.
the transplant recipient still dies. the man in perfect health
suddenly has cancer.
the proned patient flipped back to supine for intubation
codes and dies immediately.
nonsense. it’s all nonsense.
it's easier to take a breath and
compartmentalize.
Aug 15, 2021
Aug 15, 2021 at 8:37 PM UTC
From within a blackened heart
spawns madnesses twisted Invictus,
a severed head sat atop a plinth, filled
with decaying thoughts of cyanide and citrus,
completely crazy, inverted, perverted,
infected with an insanity that dances from the eyes -
pouting lips tempestuous and alluring
from the tip of a tongue he sews insidious lies,
roosting upon the bleeding emotions of others
a vile disassociation sanity can't pertain,
charred lips from suckling the ******* of Hell
the back-broke miracle nature refuses to explain,
exhaling noxious fumes, a pyro-manic incense,
one soul re-arranged, deranged and blisteringly intense;
so much so, it disgusts me beyond words -
so kick the rotten apple,
watch the maggots writhe within thou sour curds.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
Speak with passion, never live a life of God with any fear
14 years is a fortnight of tears,
I go to sleep, just to see if your image still appears
My disassociation of my peers
Changed my way, but got stuck in my gears
If the ending is near, I die with no fears
The pain inside is a guiding light
I grip to every secret insecurities with all my might
Just to be judged by man that I'm not living right
My critics are angels in the light but devils in the musk of the night
I believe true vision doesn't come from just from our eyesight
I just love the thought of living more than if I'm going to die tonight
A man dies inside if he has no work, you can cut down the tree, but the roots are still in the dirt
Although, my father, your body rest easy in the midst of this earth
My success is only the trickle from the top of the product of your work.
Never see a limitation, only imagine the celebration
Conscience *********** of the mind of a people who were ostracized by our own nation
Memories of our time, often leaves my young mind so vacant
So I get on my knees, and thank God that you made him
I didn't know back then how precious is each day
From a sharecropper to a degree to from Penn State, life is only a code if you know how to crack safes.
One life you get, I promise I'll never waste it
Your no longer here, but thank you God that you made him.
Rest in peace, Mason Land Sr. The greatest grandfather a man could ever pray for.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 1:19 PM UTC
believe in a world free of money
then we can envision ourselves with freedom
and unity
we've given up the gold and silver standard
allowing the bankers to make wealth from thin air
so the mind controlled drones work without a care
continuing to build a society's infrastructure cracking,
and breaking under a weak foundation
they dehumanize through disassociation
and patch it up with television and food free of nutrition
so can we imagine like John Lennon?
wake up and question this money and it's evil that's spread into the world
wake up and start taking action
because our world is young and dying
we are young and dying
still enslaved to the paper money
still controlled by stupid government policies
still imagining and still dreaming
still afraid and still confusing
won't we ever open up our eyes?
to die happily old and asking not for youth
but for the next lives to start
and leave behind a loving world for the future hearts
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 10:52 AM UTC
Dare I ask after your wellbeing?
When misery, woven in your face
Is all I am seeing?
Dare I align myself with you?
When we are of similar mind,
And speak nought but the truth?
Shall I be the only one,
Who every time I look back
Am the only one to do so?
Similarities convince me to do so
Disassociation convinces me otherwise
We are so alike
That neither wishes to make a move
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 1:28 AM UTC
"God. You're so ugly without your makeup. You know you really shouldn't show your face in public. You don't want to end up on that People of Walmart website."
Yeah I know.
"No seriously. You look like you've been hit by a bus."
Nope. Not hit by a bus. Just your ****** comments.
"You know they say sarcasm is just a deflection of an internal struggle, it's an underling issue to something bigger. Maybe you're going crazy."
I'm not going crazy. I'm getting my **** together. I'm in college now.
"Yeah, sure."
No. I wake up at a reasonable hour everyday. I take a shower and do my hair and make up. I do my homework and I make good grades. How can I be crazy when I'm getting my **** together. I have my **** together!
"Look at your room."
What about it?
"It's a mess."
So what?
"It's a mess. Just like you are. You are a mess."
I am not.
"You can shut the door and pretend it doesn't exist. Just like you're doing with that mask you put on every morning. Beyond these walls you're a fake. But behind them, they show who you truly are."
And what's that?
"That you're crazy and chaos. Your room represents what's on the inside. You're falling apart."
I am not crazy.
"Not crazy? As if. You've just been talking to your reflection for the past 10 minutes. Just like you have every day for the past four years. Just wait sweetie, one day I'll come out and play."
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 12:49 AM UTC
Say one more time the crown of beauty's dying. Without the shine the gown of beauty's wilting. 'Tis nothing fair a timid being. Fear not, stand tall against them halt from fleeing. Prove thy might young maiden now before ye bitter.
-----
Dear Restless, don't you know when you mess with the Mother it comes back twofold? Reckless actions masking your denial feeding her disapointment. Striving to get your way, darling, but you'll never be happy. One wrong move after another and she's coming for you baby one way or another.
-----
One day, one night, lost track, lost time. Standing alone I see all to be done, but lack ambition to clean the slate. Whereas, together I'm blinded and forgetful. Seconds pass, alright, but seconds build to minutes as a steady trickle builds to a stream. Soon enough I find myself trapped in a river. I can't escape, I'm caught in a current of disassociation. So what if I drown here? No, I want want more more. Every second a thought runs by and like the trickle turns into a dream. I feel that I think I can, but as I think this there's another stream building, the one that's pulling me back. As I'm drowning, the seconds tick..tick..tick. Just one strong lunge and I'm air bound to a new element, the one I was meant to survive in. Soon I will take a lungfull of that bountiful production the leaves breath for me. I will bask in the glorious light and love to be loved. Just one .. Strong .. Lunge.
-----
Just get on your feet and run, baby, run. Glance behind you once, no shame, twice and you'll lose your footing. I tripped when I tried to get out of misery, but I'm standing up now and tying those laces tight. Moral of these things is normally not to run anymore.. Not here, I intend to keep going.
-----
This road we travel on may some day bring us to our peace, but in the meantime we'll roam this place one offbeat path at a time. Join me on a magical adventure to nowhere and I swear you will never forget it. Peace, love, and wickedry shall set you free.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
how bad can a good girl get?
that really is the question.
; it always starts with the apathy. it quietly slips itself in, the same way that you don’t really notice the sun setting until suddenly you look up and the sky is almost black.
it sets into everything it touches like smoke to damp clothes or blood to a white bedsheet.
eyelids get heavier and exhales get deeper.
fingers and toes turning into sticks of chalk on a pavement; messy, incoherent patterns left in their wake; every little thing; the small talk, the feigned interest,
the reproachful gaze of worried friends and the number of hours taken to muster up the will required to go for a shower.
all of it, all of the time
wearing away at her chalk hands and feet; gradual erosion followed by the sharp snap as the pavement encounters a wall. dusty white remnants tell the stories of her efforts on the concrete.
like breakable stick of chalk in the hands of a child, it wore her down and down and away and away.
broken chalk; baring a striking resemblance to what may be incurred if a heap of bones were to be finely ground into a delicate powder.
and that is what the apathy feels like. like the process of gradual grinding and erosion until nothing is left.
; then comes the disassociation.
as in,
if my head starts to feel anymore spaced out will nasa try and recruit me for their next mission? as in,
did i just spend three hours making intense eye contact with the ceiling or did i imagine all of that?
it’s the hours spent wondering if they would love you more if your ribs and hip bones were threatening to burst their way through the skin, or, if really, you are as inherently unlovable as rain clouds in july.
vacant eyes and hollow words, almost doll-like. but at the same time not at all.
dolls are beautiful, adored;
useful.
it’s addictive,
feeling lost and empty i mean; if everything feels like it doesn’t really exist, and you haven’t showered in three days then do your obligations to the world still exist?
if my head isn’t here then what else actually remains?
but this is how you learned to survive, you learned to hold your own mind and dress your own wounds.
she’ll treat you the way she wants someone else to treat her; that’s why she always wants to make sure that you’re alright. because no one ever asked her.
and that, is how you know that it is getting bad again. but really none of it happens in that order or in steps; actually, it happens all at once, but isn’t that a lot harder to fit into a blank word document?
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 1:55 PM UTC
As awareness rescinds, (pulls back like the tide)
The screaming grows louder.
(Attention seeker, like a child).
As feet are lifted (atop hardwood
over concrete over bones)
Further from the earth we grow
(And feel.)
How can you hear them? Them, the beasts that protect life, over
All the static ringing electric currents
Flashing lights
?
Still, the water trickles.
(your Sun, still will he rise)
Whily heavy eyelids divert eyes.
Tantrum habits cry dry tears (those who've not been shaken to their core),
Beg for excess shave down years (this is not what it's all for)
Harvest season for the poor
Reaps more than plenty score for score.
Comfort now lies in divisions, don't cross my line! Come, clean my floor!
Up-nose scoffs toward open doors
(You're still welcome forevermore
Earth is not sorry for
Her mess.
You should
Be sorry for all of yours).
And the world
The world, it spins.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 2:54 AM UTC
1) to solitude: for embracing my current and unavoidable state of being, not in useless ponder or contemplation, but in a organic yet intentional direction towards self forgiveness, and a transforming journey, and realization, into “being”; as described by Eckhart Tolle in “The Power of Now”. for allowing me the gift of space within, to bear fruit to earnest honesty, yet foment Light for future plans, in virtuous manner, without dream-like delusions or self torment from the past.
2) to the, slow yet obvious, dissolving of the Ego via realization, and active practice thereof, of the “observer”: as opposed to the “thinker”, which bore gorgeous fruit to disassociation from the “earthly”, and incredibly vain, self and its incessant attachment to it via unconscious living.
Feb 26, 2024
Feb 26, 2024 at 4:41 PM UTC
I see everything is a different way.
I am not here,
I am there.
Disassociation
is the enemy
that i fight every day.
I'm tired of being there.
Not here,
somewhere beyond here.
I often stand outside myself
and peer in,
trembling,
terrified of what i may find.
I am there,
beyond here,
trying to escape.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 10:37 AM UTC
My worst is faced with disassociation, questioning my own sanity, looking in the mirror whilst listening to the softness. Though, disassociation breaks those boundaries, It’s weird. I don’t want or feel comfortable with defining it and at my best, I don’t care to. At my best I embrace the stares as simple acts, the finger pointing as fascination but at the same time, I’m living in my innocent normality which shifts internally and in my choice - privately, your eyes should do the same.
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 6:35 AM UTC
once present,
the shadows of the not-so-forgotten
the shadow of me
we'll be used as images
to display suffering
as two animals, (nearly the same seen
from the outside)
they are tied together
arguing, like children
about why such a thing
such a painting
of my shadow on the wall
would happen
the phones will know, they will chat
speaking amongst each other
talking about the new
this and the new that
i ask what is happening
before i am next
my shadow on the wall
along with my peers
the fellow pupils
this reality is a
chorus of voices shouting at
each other saying the same things
when none of them
(if they knew the answer)
can voice the truth
as another will agree
and the next
diluting the first point
in an idea known as
disassociation.
my shadow will be on the wall
each square inch
a blot, from each round
which will enter me.
the voice of mine is just another
in a small chorus
stuck in a small room
all yelling amongst
one another.
at least i've accepted
my reality.
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 5:31 PM UTC
Disassociation
some turn to it for recreation
but I like to feel like me
I hate watching the world
play out like a movie on the big screen
The entire world
I can only see
I can't experience
the joy of life around me
I can't untie
untangle, unwind
all the strings tightly wrapped
around my poor little mind
I don't know what to do or say
I can't even bring myself to cry
Maybe I'm just the needy type
to feel a warm body
his heartbeat
against my spine
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 11:21 PM UTC
I've grown so weary over these bland days
Of derelict caverns in the smiling youth
Engrossed within this perpetual phase
Of this disassociation from will to mouth
Its vain to be kindred with a free spirit
When you're the only person to hear it
These unending conversations with no reply
Have left me content with an arbitor silence
With my questions and answers in short supply
This depravity ridden with failing patience
I could write a fitting quote that is all my own
But,it's better to be stepped on than left all alone
I once heard those words in the presence of god
He laughed in my face with a screech in my ear
Shoved hell in my view and I gave him a nod
For the terror it shows is all that we fear
This is written on walls with blood as the ink
I saw it that day and I began to think
What will we take away from this earth?
Can memory live longer that a thought?
Could we remember our life before birth?
Or will we just blend into void and rot?
I begin to ask what is the greater release?
The pleasures of relief or to merely cease?
... And,These weeks go by without a single toil
I wake every day just as the sun will set
This world turns and waits to be spoiled
I fail to see how resistence can be met
When existence is naught but the dawn of the end
A handful of dust and our pride to defend
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 8:38 AM UTC
Lye my back flat, horizon-like,
Draping the bathtub.
A ticklish caress of my lithe finger
To my ***** thigh, after I set
A book on the toilet seat, away and still,
A mere foot from the shower.
I stare, upward, at the cratered ceiling
While it surely starts to bud;
Opening up faces and dreamscapes in
Dark shades of light that
Cause my iris to sink
And expand; pulse-like.
I move my supple arms over my ears from my sides and
Back down to my sides.
Thoughtful.
Psychological terminology and therapeutic
Rhetoric begin to invade my mental:
Dissonance, disassociation and
Depersonalization.
The three D's.
I soak and
Remember that
Saint-like paisley bed set;
Magenta flowers dotting
Moss-green labyrinths,
Bedecked by golden shapes that reflected medieval woodcarvings
Beast wings.
Matching curtains shut out the rest of the
Neighborhood like a removed escape and
A vibrancy that resonated as
Safe and enchanting
In subtle proportions.
Saturated kin to my unexpressed wonder
I always felt human In that shut-out open room
Recollections of the week prior
Spilling out and
Talk about the cosmos; the
Occult mysteries.
Untangling a web the world had sewn around
Two soulful inquirers.
The water drains.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 4:37 AM UTC