Baseball (Alone)

Here I stand in the lights; the crowd it is cheering.

I'm in my full uniform that I'm comfortable wearing.

I don't have to worry about it not fitting,

Or the way that it looks while I had been sitting. 

 -

My glove it is ready and the sand it is damp.

I can speak to my team; I'm not seen as a tramp.

I can talk to them about plays and catches. 

I don't have to worry with the impressions it fetches.

I don't have to worry about what they think,

Nothing inside me is there to bethink.

 -

I look at my coach who nods with a smile.

An encouraging word from his odd mix of style.

I don't have to worry, for he's done me right.

He's shown me the steps and how to play tight.

I know my position; shortstop is my name.

If they hit it past second, I'm there to reclaim,

The base that is vacant, I am not afraid

of the runner who wants it or the price he has paid. 

I am not affected by the frown on his face.

I can seem to play baseballl and not Saving Face.

 -

As I stand in the silence, my face is a smile,

I know we're not winning but our team is on fire.

My moms in the stands, she's glued to the field.

Cheering and waving, not talking to friends.

My father beside her, counting the wins.

 -

I wish I were here now, the lights in my mind.

All the worries beside me, the game in my eyes.

But the vision it fades. The boy never was.

His ghost is a shadow, fading to dust.

Revealed just beneath, a vision of pain:

A hurt little boy, who was dirty and stained. 

I am still so confused by his hurt and disgrace.

  -

And I wish that I could go back to this place

To tell that boy, so broken and frail,

Crumpled and dirty, alone on the field,

That his body is good. His mind is still well.

His soul is not something so cheaply to sell.

And show him the love that God would soon prove.

To hear of his feelings; They matter; They do!

And they matter to Jesus, Who died to renew.

  -

I am that boy.

All alone on that field.

Feeling buckets of pain in a heart that was sealed.

Not allowed to express what so deeply inside

Was killing him slowly, his shame to abide.

I want to go back; I wish that I could!

But alone in that past, that boy, he is moored.

So alone in the past and so misunderstood. 

 

Author's Note

6/2024