Brief Relief

A Poem by Margaret

You ever get so stressed that you literally leave your body? Same. Here it is in poem form.

That arm does not belong to me
Peach flesh with a yellow undertone,
Wispy black hair and a freckle at the wrist,
Is no longer a comforting familiarity.
The other arm isn't mine either.
Same bizarre yellow undertone and wispy hair,
Eight freckles and faint pink scars.

The legs aren't mine either
I wonder who is telling them to walk
Purple converse on linoleum tiles
One after the other, holding up legs.
They move but I am not with them
I am floating above on my thoughts ,
Watching the body walk aimlessly.

Alas I am granted this peace of mind,
sweet like acetone poisoning.
The gal of molasses is not myself.
Her anxiety is not mine in my thought cloud.
I feel sorry she is alone down there,
Sauntering through the halls like cold air.

But the gal of molasses is myself,
Those arms and legs are my own.
And I am not an ominous thought cloud.
Her anxiety is my own manifestation.
I am tugged back down like old taffy.
Her chest puffs, making room for me,
As she breathes me back in through her nose.