The dust flies up in piles, unwanted.
Coating my eyes in a layer of grit, of oblivion.
The grass is freshly cut,
just like at home.
You took me to my first baseball game,
a real major league game.
You bought me a hotdog.
My underdeveloped tastebuds devoured the mysterious meat product.
I lost a tooth that game.
You told me the tooth fairy would bring me a gift,
naïve, young. I believed you.
I am small, lost in a sea of drunken men, sweaty.
The smell of stale beer fills the metallic bleachers.
It feels as if we are a world away
from home plate.
A gust of excitement flutters through the veins of the men,
just like you.
You bellow for the team you claim as yours.
My mind, young, naïve,
I stand close to you,
screaming at the top of my lungs.
The floor is sticky,
my shoes squeak as I walk back to you.
Flirting, with a woman who is not my
Her head flies back as you whisper something in her ear,
it must have been funny.
Your eyes swirl with lust, I look down at my pink sneakers.
I have been told, I am too young, just too naïve to understand.
A baseball game, a memory.
I believed you when you said you would change.
I do not eat hot dogs anymore,
I do not believe in the tooth fairy.
Grass, no longer green, grown out.
A field uncared for.
Forgotten by the ones that claimed to love