Mar 2022
Some three-quarters of the time the mind is a-whir
With all of the poisons and burdens I bear
And, honey, if I could be sober, I would, but I try.
I deny the flesh, and I deny the liquor,
I deny the substance, and God, and I'm sicker,
And, honey, if I could be sober, I would, but I die.
The answer it lies in my opposite hands
That try all at once to conquer new lands
And write terrible poems, and bake dastardly breads,
And still all my lovers lie cold in their beds -
I satisfy no one, not even myself.
But, honey, I try and be sober,
Though maybe that's not quite the answer,
And maybe that's why
Life has left me up high
On that dusty, dusty shelf.
But, honey, I wish I were sober
'Cos maybe all this would be over
Until another voice says "You're not lost enough."
And I say, Milady, you're plainly wrong,
For the wind is my carriage, and silence, my song,
I'm a diamond that can't cut herself out of the rough.
"Lose yourself to the zest, lose yourself to the tune
Of the rhythm of life, and find you will soon
There's another disinhibition that can aid you,
Turn that thing around, that madness that previously stayed you."
I'm full of good colour, I'm full of great life,
But I'm tied by confusion, who bares a keen knife,
If I embraced my health and my joy, then perhaps I'd be sweeter,
And I do like change, but I'd love for my mind to be neater
Or at least wilder with thoughts that bare better times
I'll try catch the rhythm, and I'll follow with rhymes
I'll be drunk on Life, not forever hungover,
It's only my outlook needs be a wee bit more sober.
With all of the poisons and burdens I bear
And, honey, if I could be sober, I would, but I try.
I deny the flesh, and I deny the liquor,
I deny the substance, and God, and I'm sicker,
And, honey, if I could be sober, I would, but I die.
The answer it lies in my opposite hands
That try all at once to conquer new lands
And write terrible poems, and bake dastardly breads,
And still all my lovers lie cold in their beds -
I satisfy no one, not even myself.
But, honey, I try and be sober,
Though maybe that's not quite the answer,
And maybe that's why
Life has left me up high
On that dusty, dusty shelf.
But, honey, I wish I were sober
'Cos maybe all this would be over
Until another voice says "You're not lost enough."
And I say, Milady, you're plainly wrong,
For the wind is my carriage, and silence, my song,
I'm a diamond that can't cut herself out of the rough.
"Lose yourself to the zest, lose yourself to the tune
Of the rhythm of life, and find you will soon
There's another disinhibition that can aid you,
Turn that thing around, that madness that previously stayed you."
I'm full of good colour, I'm full of great life,
But I'm tied by confusion, who bares a keen knife,
If I embraced my health and my joy, then perhaps I'd be sweeter,
And I do like change, but I'd love for my mind to be neater
Or at least wilder with thoughts that bare better times
I'll try catch the rhythm, and I'll follow with rhymes
I'll be drunk on Life, not forever hungover,
It's only my outlook needs be a wee bit more sober.
Disclaimer: I barely ever drink. This poem is about my lack of productivity and fulfillment, which I feel comes from too much stress, which comes from... It's a vicious cycle. In the Little Prince, the Alcoholic says "I drink because I am ashamed, and I am ashamed because I drink." A vicious cycle like that. I also feel like being under constant stress, having little sleep and looking for anything to get my mind off it (which ends up making me more stressed) is an illustration of poor decision making, like one does when one is drunk, or suffering from the damaging effects of alcoholism. It's not a literal poem, and under no circumstances am I saying that chronic procrastination/suffering from stress and low-mood is on par with alcoholism: I thought it would be an interesting metaphor to explore.
