My head is weary
my thoughts are gone.
do I make a short poem
or does it need to be long

What is the point,
why is there all this thinking.
is it true that writing is easier
after I have been drinking.

The paper is too white
and the ink is too black
but once the first word is written
there is no way going back.

Alcohol is the embrace I lack tonight
Warming my skin
Calming my nerves
Soothing my soul
As I forget my loneliness
(Which makes itself more apparent as of late)
A little peace
For a little while
Just lull me to sleep
In your sweet, easy comfort

When I was five
I watched my father drink  
until his cheeks were rosy pink
but I didn’t think anything of  
it as he playfully chased me on my bike
on a warm August evening.  
The lower the sun sank into the earth,
the more Budweiser cans would open  
and my mother would turn a blind eye
so I couldn’t tell how tired and solemn she looked
until I was sixteen and I noticed they didn’t talk anymore.
My father couldn’t look at me when he asked how my day was,
pouring another can of beer into a glass
and the foam poured over the rim  
just like my anger and pure resentment
for the man who used to make me laugh until I cried
and now the tears soon flowed for different reasons. .  
My parent’s relationship crumbled as did my heart  
as I watched my father’s alcohol intake increase  
and the love I thought he had for me vanish.  


“Remember when you cried when I got my driver’s license?”
I was ignored as he swirled beer around in his glass.  
“Do you still care? Don’t blame this on me.”
A simple text he sent
to his own daughter  
“I never want to see you again.”
Deep in the core of my being resided a hatred  
for a sorry human being who dared to call himself a man
once his true feelings revealed themselves.  
Soon I was twenty five and I found myself still wondering
why I was blamed for his own disease  
and I realized I could be as boiling angry, hurt, and confused  
and clench my fists until they burned just hearing his name
it just wouldn’t change anything.  
He has become a floating memory creeping
deeper and deeper  
in the back of my mind  
drowning in liquor until he completely fades.

I want to drink a little too much with you.
Wander the streets laughing about nothing, staring in the store windows.
Looking for a glow of an open sign to find a new pack of cigarettes.
Staying up too late, telling too many truths.
Acting on all of our bad ideas,
With em the excuse in our heads that tomorrow it won’t matter.

Shakira on the radio,
a gin and tonic or maybe four.
The night is young, baby,
and we aren't
getting any older.

I drank from the well of shame
And I still feel it burning inside me

It's been a while,
Since i drunk so much.
These days, my drug is just the smile,
I lay down, it's my new crutch.

I miss the days, that were softly red,
I miss the feeling of wanting dead.
My life is sore, but not so much more.

I wish, I wish I knew where to go.
Just sit in my calm place now, meadow.
It was all a lie, I told myself.
Instead, I put it on a higher shelf.

Do these feelings last?
Or do they simply pass.
I'm asking, not enquiring
something something requiring,
some strength and love,
is not enough, especially from above.

Was I always destined,
To be your friend or be your foe?
I do wish to answer, however, although....
I dont know, what to think no more.
I feel empty not just sore.


I feel like I've lost myself,
I ask for help I asked for help I ask for...
No more than the ordinary person.
Why can't I write how I used to?
Why can't I write only in pain.
Why can't I write when I'm feeling sane.
What is this curse?
What is this verse,
could it be any worse?
I feel so numb,
Down to my thumb.
I feel like I've lost my brain.

I feel so alone,
Yet I feel not alone.
I feel like I've lost again.

Everyone! Everybody!
If you all could shut the hell up
For a just one sec,
I like to propose a toast.

I’m the designated driver to my friends
when they can’t make it home
I’m everybody’s therapist
really good to talk to
without questions or judgement.
I’m the priest you confess your sins to
because you’re desperate for forgiveness
or afraid to have a one-on-one with God.
I’m often asked how I’m so lit
without any refreshments.

I’m clear as *****.
I don’t need anything extra
to tell the truth
to have a good time
to say yes or no.

I can dance my *** off
and remember last night was dope.
The morning after
I grab my bottle of *****
drinking my issues, blessings, and my fun.
Sweet as honey going down.

So, if you think I’m lame
*******.
I’m actually quite the energy ball.
If you think I’m better than you
get your head out of your ***.
At least I don’t act like a fool.
You think I can’t hang with you.
No. Don’t get the **** twisted;
You can’t hang with me
if shrinking your liver
And burning your lungs like paper
is the only thing on your agenda.

I know you have cancer.
I have cancer too.
We all have it.
And it *****.

So we take our meds
to treat the symptoms;
to feel better
to feel like we’re one step closer
to curing the illness
To feel like everything is going to be alright
even when it’s not gonna be.

The difference between you and me
is that I take the shots
the bartender AKA life
pours into my glass.
I drink
and it’s sweet as honey going down.
Clear as *****.

But please! By all means,
drink what’s in your glass.
Light that **** up.
Just leave me
and my tall bottle of ***** alone.

Because I am about to get
shaken and stirred
until I fall the **** out.

Cheers!