Yesterday I had the good fortune to listen to a recording of this poem,
The story is about honesty and heroes
and I am forced as a result to stand up
and be one again.
Excuses or reasons aside
I have taken to hiding and being weak.
This poem reminded me of who I am.
This is it the end of this long winding road
this is where you stand alone with the truth.
This is when you stop telling yourself and everyone else
that you are fine and happy and ok.
This is the culmination of days
days on end that have now turned into weeks.
Weeks, I’m sad to say are now being called months
and at months I can stop and count to two.
Somewhere in your mind you find it romantic
that notion of the tortured artist being a drunk.
A bottle beside a typewriter, a haggard weary face
but the truth in this is all it is, is sad.
Last night I finally I saw myself in that mirror
as at 4 am I lay here weeping alone.
This has to stop sometime and sometime has to be now
I caught hold of a life line yesterday.
There was a story that I heard about truth
about heroes and I remembered I used to be one.
Once upon a time a long time ago
I stood up to my fears and threw them all in the sea.
Clean and pure and naked I faced the world
and fourteen years later I’ve fallen down again.
This time it’s in a bottle that I’m drowning
but everything about it feels the same.
The helplessness, the shame, the self-hatred
the pain now multiplied is even worse.
Last night I wrote a letter to you and I was begging
to understand why you left me here.
I’m still trying so hard to understand what happened
thank god I had sense enough at the end to hit delete.
It all comes together in this moment
in the need, in the loss, in the complete disappearance of me.
The fact that I have taken myself once again back to this place
is the answer to the questions I keep needing from you.
I am lost, I am spinning, I am spiraling
but today I need to just stop and let myself bleed.
Let it flow until it has run its course
and then empty and dry take a single step.
Feel it all and yes, it’s going to hurt
but in truth stand there and let myself be pure.
I feel polluted and ugly and sadly hidden away
in darkness and I’m screaming for the light.
I am the only one who can turn it on because I turned it off
and it’s time I took responsibility for that.
There have been signs hovering around me now for some time
a tiny green eyed angel has been flying by.
But I have taken to feeding off of her voice
needing more than she could ever give.
So I balance out the rest of the feelings with liquor
and the warmth I feel as that first sip runs through my veins.
It’s only ever the first one that feels so good
the rest of the time it’s just filling up the numb.
So stop lying to yourself and to everyone else
keep the angels and the poets as your gifts.
Let them be the stones you put into your pockets
that you touch when you are scared and all alone.
Be brave and strong, be something you can be proud of
be who you were all those years ago.
Be something, be anything, just don’t continue being this
this is your coffin lying in the ground.