Last Friday I did a very good job
of drinking away
my anxiety.
The sad part was
the only person
there to see it
was my mom.

It took me awhile,
but  five beers
and two
hard ciders later
I was free.

I’m almost 19
and I’ve already
started solving
my problems
with vices.

I had my *** phase.
It treated me no better
than any cigarette I bummed.
In the end
it was all just smoke.

Alcohol made me into something
I believed to be better.
I smile because I mean it.
I don’t shy away
From people.
But I’ve come to realize
that I’m worth more
than two shots of *****
and bottle of Mike’s Hard

It’s so easy to forget
what’s circling
in my brain.

I forgot about
school starting
in 2 weeks.

I forgot about my friends
and why
I’ve been feeling
that there’s a lack there of.

It is no ones fault
but my own.
I have no pity
for myself.

I’ve refused to believe
that taking a pill
would vacuum
away the half finished
poems and the
torn up ideas I have
in my mind.

It’s become very
difficult
to explain
myself.
Most times I wish
I didn’t have too.

I’ve never been approachable.
I look mean
But I promise
I’ve always tried to give
everything.
I always thought
that if I said yes
then so would others.

I woke up that Saturday
at  five a.m.
Realizing
that the world kept moving
when mine slowed down.
School will still come
and so will tomorrow.

Give me a pack of cigarettes
Because it’s much easier
to wash that smell from my mouth
than it is to get
these thoughts out.

A burning cigarette.
Maybe that's all we are.
We are all cigarettes,
burning and burning
in these places that we recognize as home.
Wasting away,
Waiting for something,
anything,
to take us away from this hell
that we disguise as happiness.
When I walk around this place
I see through these facades that we all put up
every one of us has a secret,
our goal is to hide it.
Hide the pain
or the happiness,
refusing to look weak.
We're all walking around this earth
trying to figure out the purpose,
the reason.
For existing?
For continuing in this unhappiness?
I don't know
Maybe
I don't pretend to know everything
I have days where I'm happy
I have days where I'm sad
We all do,
I contemplate this life more than I should
I question this all knowing power that is supposed to exist
Not denying "his" existence but wondering
if he does,
if he's saddened by what he sees.
Not in society,
but in me.
With the paths I've chosen,
I really hope not.
Because as much as I'd like to say I do,
I don't regret a thing.
With that said,
I guess I'll just sit back,
and light my cigarette,
and watch it all pass.
Hoping like everyone else
that the day that the burn reaches the filter,
there's at least one more in the box.

It has taken me nearly 19 years to accept the fact that I am stuck in this body,
a body that I have loved,
and hated.
Although,
more of the latter occurred than I would care to admit.
I'm stuck in this life,
as this person,
and I have to be okay with that.
Because not being okay with that,
doesn't leave me very many options.