Confessions
Confessions.
Confessions
Are what you do
When you feel a thought
In the back of your brain
And you neglect it.
Envelope it.
Seal it up.
Tell it
To never speak to you
Again.
Those are your confessions.
And while they happen to be
The thoughts you tell
To leave you be,
They're the ones
That scream
The loudest.
I confess,
I'm not a user.
Never have I been.
My drugs consisted of
Sounds and words
And beats and burns
And self-infliction.
Never had I ever
Let a chemical
Burn my tongue.
Quench my dying dry.
Never had I ever
Sucked it in
Filled my lungs
With the breath
Of little green leaves.
And then, I did.
And then,
Never had I ever
Felt the same
Again.
I confess,
It's only been
An amount of times
That I could hold
In the palm of my hands.
No addiction.
No subscription.
Just obsession.
The alcohol
It soaked my brain
Dulled the waves
Toned me down
Let me feel
The beauty
In my blood.
It took me to a place
Between the guitars
And the harmonies
When the songs were on
And I melted
Inside my own skull.
The weeds?
They were different.
They went down easy.
No burn.
No force.
No clench.
No taste.
Just breath.
And then I was flying.
The grass became my bed,
And the sky became a globe,
And I soared through it
Even though
I remained
Grounded.
The substances?
I knew them as
My enemies
But then we became
Best friends.
Until the night
They betrayed me
And the world
Was set
On vibrate
And my skin
Went numb
As if
I was trapped
Inside of it.
And I stretched
And ached
And yurned
And burned
And coughed
And cried
And screamed
And why
Why did I do this?
I'm a good girl.
I don't do this.
I'm a smart girl.
This was stupid.
What if it's life?
What if it's forever?
What if I die tonight?
But I didn't die tonight.
I woke up days and days.
My brain was burned
And my chest hurt
But I was awake.
And I hated the weeds.
But I confess?
I still obsess.
And I crave it now.
I crave day one,
When we sat
Beneath the sun
And the night fell thick
And warm
A blanket
Over my red, starry eyes.
I miss my breath dripping
With THC
And the dark
Being blended
With fertile
Night
Rather than
This barren
Fight
That I fight
Each night
I wade through it.
Confessions.
The nights are no easier
Than they were
Two years ago
Two very
Sober
Years ago
When I watched pills
As if
They'd be
My savior.
I'd spend these nights
I'd fight
With my mind
And stare
At the cabinets
The orange bottles
The capsules
The tablets
The chalky,
Plastic-wrapped
Powder-filled
Tunnels
Of perhaps
Certain death
Should I take
A handful
And kiss
The night
Goodnight.
But never had I ever
Spilled the bottles
In my palm
In my mouth
Never.
And I confess,
Though I wanted to,
I'm glad I never did,
For life,
Sober,
Or soaring,
Is fine,
And worth glory
I'm worthy glory
I'll live my own
Glory.
But I confess
These nights
I fight
To this day
I still fight
That fight
Where I wonder,
Can I do it?
Should I?
Could I?
Nostalgia gets too thick:
Just kill it off.
The yelling is too loud:
Just kill it off.
I want to slit the skin:
Just kill it off.
The tears are getting hot:
Just kill it off.
Anything goes wrong:
Just kill it off.
I can.
I could.
I've learned
The tricks.
Get myself
Un-sober,
On the bad weeds.
Let them grow inside of me.
Because,
That night,
As I drowned
In my pillow
In the numb
Shaky dark
As I tripped
Over branches
Of putrid
Furry leaves
I thought
It would happen.
I would die.
And I welcomed it.
Get myself
High
On the bad stuff
And I'll welcome it.
But I won't.
I confess,
Life is a mess,
But I can trudge through it.
Sober,
Or soaring,
I'll be okay,
Someday,
Whether or not
That day
Is today
Or another day.
I'll overcome it.
But still
The confessions?
They stay.
They live under your skin.
So you have to
Make peace.
With your confessions.
Confessions.
Confessions
Are what you do
When you feel a thought
In the back of your brain
And you neglect it.
Envelope it.
Seal it up.
Tell it
To never speak to you
Again.
Those are your confessions.
And while they happen to be
The thoughts you tell
To leave you be,
They're the ones
That scream
The loudest.
I confess,
I'm not a user.
Never have I been.
My drugs consisted of
Sounds and words
And beats and burns
And self-infliction.
Never had I ever
Let a chemical
Burn my tongue.
Quench my dying dry.
Never had I ever
Sucked it in
Filled my lungs
With the breath
Of little green leaves.
And then, I did.
And then,
Never had I ever
Felt the same
Again.
I confess,
It's only been
An amount of times
That I could hold
In the palm of my hands.
No addiction.
No subscription.
Just obsession.
The alcohol
It soaked my brain
Dulled the waves
Toned me down
Let me feel
The beauty
In my blood.
It took me to a place
Between the guitars
And the harmonies
When the songs were on
And I melted
Inside my own skull.
The weeds?
They were different.
They went down easy.
No burn.
No force.
No clench.
No taste.
Just breath.
And then I was flying.
The grass became my bed,
And the sky became a globe,
And I soared through it
Even though
I remained
Grounded.
The substances?
I knew them as
My enemies
But then we became
Best friends.
Until the night
They betrayed me
And the world
Was set
On vibrate
And my skin
Went numb
As if
I was trapped
Inside of it.
And I stretched
And ached
And yurned
And burned
And coughed
And cried
And screamed
And why
Why did I do this?
I'm a good girl.
I don't do this.
I'm a smart girl.
This was stupid.
What if it's life?
What if it's forever?
What if I die tonight?
But I didn't die tonight.
I woke up days and days.
My brain was burned
And my chest hurt
But I was awake.
And I hated the weeds.
But I confess?
I still obsess.
And I crave it now.
I crave day one,
When we sat
Beneath the sun
And the night fell thick
And warm
A blanket
Over my red, starry eyes.
I miss my breath dripping
With THC
And the dark
Being blended
With fertile
Night
Rather than
This barren
Fight
That I fight
Each night
I wade through it.
Confessions.
The nights are no easier
Than they were
Two years ago
Two very
Sober
Years ago
When I watched pills
As if
They'd be
My savior.
I'd spend these nights
I'd fight
With my mind
And stare
At the cabinets
The orange bottles
The capsules
The tablets
The chalky,
Plastic-wrapped
Powder-filled
Tunnels
Of perhaps
Certain death
Should I take
A handful
And kiss
The night
Goodnight.
But never had I ever
Spilled the bottles
In my palm
In my mouth
Never.
And I confess,
Though I wanted to,
I'm glad I never did,
For life,
Sober,
Or soaring,
Is fine,
And worth glory
I'm worthy glory
I'll live my own
Glory.
But I confess
These nights
I fight
To this day
I still fight
That fight
Where I wonder,
Can I do it?
Should I?
Could I?
Nostalgia gets too thick:
Just kill it off.
The yelling is too loud:
Just kill it off.
I want to slit the skin:
Just kill it off.
The tears are getting hot:
Just kill it off.
Anything goes wrong:
Just kill it off.
I can.
I could.
I've learned
The tricks.
Get myself
Un-sober,
On the bad weeds.
Let them grow inside of me.
Because,
That night,
As I drowned
In my pillow
In the numb
Shaky dark
As I tripped
Over branches
Of putrid
Furry leaves
I thought
It would happen.
I would die.
And I welcomed it.
Get myself
High
On the bad stuff
And I'll welcome it.
But I won't.
I confess,
Life is a mess,
But I can trudge through it.
Sober,
Or soaring,
I'll be okay,
Someday,
Whether or not
That day
Is today
Or another day.
I'll overcome it.
But still
The confessions?
They stay.
They live under your skin.
So you have to
Make peace.
With your confessions.
Confessions.