Better coping through distraction

Even I must admit there’s more to life
than yelling at female police officers
clutching my emotional support penguin
burying imagined visions of my father
into deeper crevices of my brain.

Once, he was here, or so my mother
once said, fighting off demons
handcuffed to his fate.
He chose to disappear

and I have again tried knitting,
having not yet completed a scarf;

I can divert
or self-destruct

remembering fondly a ripping motion
which I am far too old to act out
but still might.

Once, I had none of the necessary shame;
once it gagged me &
more than once, I punched myself in the face
just so someone would.

Now I am self-soothing,
listening to muffled music
through the bathroom door
coalescing with fog as my partner showers too long

either to forget I am here
or to wash himself most clean.

I cannot disappear, unskilled

as with most traits I could have
inherited instead.