I tell people I’m sleeping better these days, but I leave out the coping mechanisms - like alcohol poisoning and the tar in my lungs.
I leave out the nights I sing myself to sleep, nestling on cool porcelain to calm my dizzy head.
I leave out the sad days that turn into sad nights thinking of you again;
going straight back to square one - scared of my past and future.
Although someone once told me “we are not whole without the parts we’ve lost”
He put it in a poem that made someone cry.
Well I’ve lost plenty and I will lose more before I die,
but the happiest souls are those with nothing left to lose.
So I pen in vain for those who stop to read.
My words scribbled angrily, happily, in desperation and in misery,
and my sorrows run deep through the streets of my quiet little town, leaving behind rain trailing downhill days after a storm came and went;
just like my little sister does when she wants to be free.
I’ve developed a surrealist mindset form every drug I’ve seen, starting with the first light trails from a drug that was banned in the 70′s.
So today I smile and won’t think of tomorrow, because the 12 steps said to live presently.
Today is here - there is no future except for now.
It makes life a little easier to bear, doesn’t it?
Or it makes you so upset you’ll never make it past tonight.
So my world - precariously balanced - battles between being happy and being inspired,
but the worst is being neither ;
stuck in the middle of my nightmares,
not able to write a decent poem and not able to truly smile.
I swear I’ve been trying, but not for myself because I owe it to you.
Mommy still hasn’t gotten better so it looks like I’ll follow her down the rabbit hole so my siblings don’t have to,
and I’ve been playing with fire that still hasn’t burned me - but I don’t doubt it will.
I got some big plans for myself - running away from home so I can find happiness,
but I’ll probably be back next year, this time, when I figure out it’s not my lifestyle it’s the chaos in my head residing in my bones.
But currently I ask myself what life is without chaos to comfort your sadness.
Like what is a book without a single line of poetry.