Blood in the DirtA Poem by Heather DBeen upset lately. An old softball field is my sanctuary. I wrote this from the pitcher's mound. (and yes, that's me in the picture. lol)I'm sitting in the pitcher's circle, Bare toes in the rusty red dirt. The smell of dirt and chalk Makes my heart hurt.
This is my domain, This is where I reign. There isn't one minute I wouldn't relive, Bring on the pain.
I played through the agony, Nails digging into my palm. Just grit my teeth a little harder, And pitch the ball.
I would give anything To go back to that time and place. Black lines under my eyes, Dirt smeared across my face.
My blood in the dirt, But not one tear shall fall. She'll pay for that one. That was a bullshit call.
Being the pitcher was rough, Putting a target on my back. Cut, bloodied, and bruised, But I'll make her pay for that.
A pitch inside, my bad, That was a little too close. No one makes me bleed Without paying what they owe.
I can deal out bruises too, Hell, I can break your arm. I'm one of the best around, I can do plenty harm.
But that was back then, I gave up my dream. I took an academic scholarship, How wise that choice seemed.
Now it's school all day, Research papers and math. No more cleats, no more glove, I'm on a different path.
Now I go to work, Pleasing customers is my goal. No longer does my life Revolve around the ball I hold.
I miss the sound of the stands Cheering, screaming my name. I miss my glory days. I miss the game. © 2011 Heather DFeatured Review
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Added on February 21, 2011Last Updated on February 28, 2011 Author
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