A Monster Lives Inside of Me

A monster lives inside of me. It’s lived there for as long as I can remember, way down deep in the pit of my belly. Sometimes I wonder if it’s the same monster that had fueled my father's rages, if that was what made his eyes go cold and empty when he would scream at me.
I thought that I had gotten my monster from my father. It had never been as ferocious as his, but it was there and I fight like hell to keep it docile.

But sometimes when I get angry, the monster comes out. I know it and I had worked for years to learn how to control it, but sometimes the monster still gets the better of me. When I hurt, I get angry. And when I am angry, it’s easy to lose myself.

So I have to ask you as my lover and as my friend to acknowledge that I accept who I am and you must be sure that it is this person in which you choose to stand beside.

Copyright © 2007 - Heather Cacciatori

I Looked For You

I looked for you…I always look for you. With each catch, each throw, each play, I look into the crowd trying to catch your gaze. I know you won’t be there but I look anyways hoping to see your face hidden amongst the other supporters. You used to be there every time as it was our thing even when we didn’t have many. Now that we have so few I still believe this is our sport, our thing, our connection to a heartbeat that we so rarely share. I stand on the field scanning, imagining the look of pride I will see when I meet your eyes and even when you’re not there, I still pretend. I imagine that you’re watching from a place I can’t see…cheering with a clap I can’t hear. I remember the smile you’d have when the ball would land in my glove, the spark of pride with each great play…the memories always make me play harder.

I feel like I’m sixteen again, waiting for you to arrive. You were my teacher, my manager, my coach, and one of my biggest fans. You were my hero and my supporter. I still picture you…ball cap, blue jeans, t-shirt…smiling at me from the sidelines. I still hear the whispered pride as you brag about ‘your little girl’. I still feel the strong arm as it rests on my shoulders, congratulating me on a job well done. I’m an adult, yet I still long for your support, I still ache for your presence, and I’m still disappointed when I don’t see you in the crowd.

Maybe next game when I look for you, as I always do, you’ll be there. You are, after all, my dad and this is, after all, our thing.

Copyright © 2008 - Heather Cacciatori