I cannot write a poem high
I said
I’ve never been able to
But I lied for the sake of argument
Which is something I try not to do
And I know I shouldn’t
But I do
And you should know this.
I know my truths are safe here though
You said you don’t trust
Art born of intoxication
My mind is recovering
And stopping slowly
The many years I’ve passed
Worth of intoxications
Brain dead highs and lows so bitter
I freeze cheeks just to think
Searching for highs in wrong things
Not even drugs
Binge eating weekends and lies to my parents
Skipped agendas and responsibilities hidden away from
Like ass-up ostrich immaturity
And I worry myself asleep
Most off-days
Wondering if my time has come to go or go ahead
Slip on a K-Mart vest and gain a special blue glow
Or sell it, pawn it, hitch it, suck it, and sue it all the way to the
Big leagues
Recently I started searching for answers in a chair
Without sugar or video games for a week
Just to see if I could stop crying
And throwing fits
And maybe start cleaning up my pencil box
And sharing with the other kids
But there was always a difference between hearing my father say ‘throw you into the deep end’
And him actually throwing me
Wait for me to decide
Before your decision
And your chances of a contact high
Soar to Petty concert comparisons
