Saturday, February 7, 2009

Old Poetry..........

Who am I?
I am a child ~
A puzzle of a child ~
In an adult's body.

I am four years old
maybe more - - maybe less
But mostly around four ~
You expect me to be forty-three.

I am afraid
of the dark, of people
Of being discovered
You expect me to be "real."

I am real
I am a child
A puzzle of a child of four
In an adult body of forty-three.

I am not what you meant
When you said "real."
You meant real -- big,
Grown, well mannered, adult.

I am real
Real hurt
Real abandoned
Real rejected!

I am definitely "real"
A child of four
In a body of forty-three
Real and alone..........

Note: This poem was written March 21, 1990. As I begin sorting through all this stuff from my therapy process, I will be posting some of what I find. I don't know if there is a rhyme or reason to what I'm chosing to post. It just seemed to strike me that I wanted to post this........so here it is. Maybe after my recent post on "REAL" this just seemed to fit as another dimension in what is real for someone like me with Multiple Personality Disorder (Dissociative Identity Disorder).

4 comments:

Ethereal Highway said...

Wow, RR. That is awesome. I understand and I think it could very well realte to being real.

Rising Rainbow said...

Ya, Lynn, I think so. Funny how that happened. I have about twelve books full of stuff and I managed to "find" this quite easily. I just turned a couple of pages and there it was.

There are others coming.......

dinkleberries said...

As a rule, not much into poetry myself, but as I read through this, I thought of my dad, He pretty much went through life functioning as a two year old on an emotional level. Kinda wrecked us kids, but it really makes me wonder what happened, what went awry, to leave him like that. Your post on autism caught my eye yesterday, and I suspect my dad may have been dealing with aspergers, and while the child in your post may not have deserved to be voted "off the island", I thought what about the teacher? Why do folks have such high expectations of her when she prolly had her hands more than full. Isn't the harsh critism of her voting her 'off the island'? Really, what tools does she have to deal with this situation? I remember in the fourth grade there was a boy that was always acting out in class and being disruptive. The teacher (I really liked her and thought she was a good teacher) used me as a buffer between him and the rest of the class. I would take him down and pin him every recess. He just wouldn't keep his hands off me. I even had to walk 5 miles home one day as I missed the bus while I was 'wrasslin' him to the ground. Years later it came out that his father had been molesting him. My heart goes out to him. I don't remember ever hating him, I knew he had issues, but was clueless as to why or what to do to help. I think we ask a lot of teachers to deal with so much. I also read "A Boy Called It" and it breaks my heart that so much crap goes on, and there are so many signs and signals, yet they are overlooked, mostly cuz no one can imagine the horror that is going on at home.
Thank you for sharing.

jumpinginpuddles said...

for those wanting to see how we are in the victorian fires there is a blog up about what we went throguh and are going through