Never Been Kissed

Some people deal with past trauma by creating distance internally. At its most severe, this is called disassociation. I will not say I have this clinical condition. I will say I spend a great amount of time Somewhere Else. I figured out that I don’t have to be fully present in life. So much of the time, I’m not. But there are those people, that special squad of folks (you know who you are), that cause you to return to yourself, however briefly. Coming back from what we’ll loosely call a disassociation trip is always a little disorienting. You get this feeling of intense…almost grief. You’re gasping…you’re struggling to breathe and feel and keep it together after so long an absence. That’s the defibrillator, shocking your heart awake, back into rhythm. And from there, it’s straight into love.

Never Been Kissed

The heart skips a beat then continues
Unremarkable feat how soft tissues
Suspect, without prompting, correct
The unspeakable issues that go on
In the chest; all four chambers at rest

It’s ok, hit reset; back to menu


The heart starts to race then it stumbles
Unsure of the pace, rhythm crumbles,
Doubles back trying to make up the slack
Fight its way through the jungle of misfires
In the breast, the back log of distress

Has reached critical mass – danger rumbles


The heart is a mess – terror threatens
Every beat blocks progress, wasting seconds
Out of step, out of sync, out of time on the brink
Of the grim reaper’s weapon; sprint
Toward death or decline and the valves are offline

We won’t make it in time! darkness beckons



The heart needs a friend now to find it
Intervention begins, must remind this
Or-gan of the currents and arcs and the natural sparks
That make up it’s parts and define it;
leave the death, as they say, for a far distant day
There’s more life on the way – get behind that.

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