Parker 3h

i think i found
where the sidewalk ends
and i won't pretend
to need you

Before the illness descended on my brain
I never felt particularly insane

Eating disorders are not all about wanting to be thin
The pain is much deeper and emerges from within

Your self concept is shattered.

I don't think others understand
What it takes to recover, to escape quicksand.

Eating disorder thoughts are rotten and cruel
They convince you that you are a complete fool

They spit negativity into your head
You believe your thoughts, tears are shed.

Your appearance in the mirror you continue to hate
Vile thoughts continue to berate

Try living with that constant dread
Like walking around with a boulder on your head

At some points wishing you'd be better off



Congrats! You've gained weight!
Your physical health has returned, look at that heart rate.

But I gained more than I wanted to gain.
My mind is spinning, the thoughts are insane.

My mind is battling a war each day.
As I try to go to school, be a human, be okay.

The strength and will to do that is intense.
To live with your mind continually on a fence.

To have restriction sit in the back of your mind.
As you try to keep up with school and not get behind.

It is not a choice.
The voice.
Is not a choice.

But recovery is.

To try to live how I want to live.

If you come across someone battling this fight
Commend them on their courage and might.

Be their support.
Even though you may not understand.
Lend a listening ear or a helping hand.

Be the difference in their day.
Help stop their thought spiral, remind them they're okay

Anything you say
Makes a difference.
Makes a difference

Love and care will fuel their fight
To know their thoughts are not right.

I am building homes on the shorelines in hourglasses
hoping that this time it will last.
It has been over 18 months
But I know it won't last.
I will relapse eventually

And pitifully.
Because one year not drinking is like seven to an alcoholic
And I’m still ageing in years of the dog that bit me and will never let me go.

Wanna talk about magic tricks?
It's only sober I saw how much I was disappearing drinking,

So lets call this bullet caught a bullet dodged.
This spell casts me in a bad light
That i can't get my shadow out of
call me Houdini because I'm still looking for  escapes.
You will notice
There is nothing up my sleeves but attempts
so don’t tempt me,
because I haven’t been sleeping too good
and I ain’t awake any better.

For all this freedom,
sometimes I want to take the lockpicks I kept behind my teeth and close shut the world back up over my head again,
Spend a spell or two inside the prisons i built myself again,
Fall back into sunset habits again,
Rather than face the sunrise clear headed
Knowing that this
This is as good as i'm ever gonna feel.

I am sick of being cured because this is no antidote.
No one is afraid of the dark when the lights are on

There’s a morning chorus still singing the burden of nausea
And dropped  by the graceless hands of fate
Another Day breaks.
But for all the fragile homes I built myself in the name of safety
I have no time for walls right now.
I know I built a life of alcohol and I
But we strayed together for all the wrong reasons
And hedonism is not a coping mechanism
And I’ll always remember how this works
in yesterdays that escape me
and excuses that made me
With fearful nights where I was relapse ready
and days like today
Where my resolve is whiskey dick soft like a thrift store sweater
I tell myself tomorrow is just one more day to get to the end of.

Addiction is any port in a storm,
though i’m weighed down by the seas I swallow to keep me steady
You can’t call call me three sheets to the wind anymore
cos i’m tying hope to anchors
Onto these glass kept ships that I used to sink myself in.
There are no answers in a bottle no matter how often you ask it
And i'll keep asking.
Hold me like a funeral
Cos i am not strong.
Hold me like your breath,
Cos technically theres a lifetime supply of it
Now matter how deep you go.

I am 100 years of hurricanes

I have fought avalanches and won

I am a monument to a disaster that never happened

I have been shaken in exact sync with whatever earthquake
You tell me I should not be walking with
You ask me how I survived this well who the fuck said I did?

Am i as much a symptom of the world as I am sick of it?
I never figured out the trick behind this
I never knew what proof I had of this
Just knew that it was always too much too often for too long.
Just knew that it was always too much too often for too long.
Just knew that one way or another this will be the death of me.

I know where this journey takes me, and what it takes from me
So when asked for directions I say:
“To hell with us there is no us!
No you and I to talk of.
You were only ever a wrong road
and I am headed due north of this rock bottom.”

I'll be the tornado if you can find my ruby red shoes to be twelve stepping in.
This close to failure I wear seven league boots
And I know the exact route of just a few moments longer.

I’ll let the seasons decide this one
(Let them change me like I  didnt)
Keep whiskey and knives away from me;
I got this achilles throat from trying to swallow the styx.

And I'm not scared of mortality’s uncertainty any more;
My Haros hand is sure.
Though I didnt have any doubts drunk
I'm sure
I was never Sam when i wasn't sober.

Two years ago I wrote a poem called "Sober" (you can see me perform it here at the end )

I don't go to the AA, poetry is my therapy and it became my mantra but I noticed that every poem about recovery talks about how bad alcoholism is and how great sobriety is without acknowledging that it's fucking boring.

I still want to drink, every day and there are large aspects that I'll always miss that are not all negatives. So this poem is about trying to remedy that by acknowledging that I am not a better person sober, that I am still trying to figure myself out and that for all that I have acheived, all I have fought through I will still always hope to be able to one day have a beer or a whiskey and that not be a ddfining characteristic of I wrote an identity poem about it.

It's taken me a good year to write this. I hope you love it.

eight butterflies instead of lines
instead of those painful repeating designs
eight butterflies, just drawings in any other person’s eyes
but to me they’re special
so i keep them alive
i’m starting to hate that red ink anyway

The butterfly project is quite a gift. I would recommend researching it for yourself.
Parker 2d

there are so many things
i wish i could say to you
and it's not that i can't
it's that i won't
i wrote you so many love letters
signed sealed and forgotten
in my dresser drawer
far from where
you would ever find them
i want you to know
that i miss you
and that i'm trying
to move on

Polly 3d

Take my name from your lips
As I have done yours.
No more will I allow your words, bitter and grating
To tear my skin and reach my bones
No longer will I lay crumpled
As though my body is pierced and my soul pouring
like blood from a slaughtered lamb.
No longer will your actions yield response.
I am done.

Perhaps the birds will carry on
singing after I am gone,
or perhaps the world unfolds
only in my lonely mind.

I’m not yet old enough to find
a good answer to this burning question,
for though my fledgling fingers
grasp facile responses,
the same doubt always plays over
in my aching head:
what if I’m looking at things all wrong?

Half awake and ruminating in bed,
cool winter wind carries through the window
that familiar morning melody that reminds me:
listen to life’s song!

The wrinkles sink low into my brow,
and I am still as the morning dew on the grass.
Knowing so little of this mystery we call life,
I have yet quaffed love's perfume in some of its corners.

Taking aim at life, I find I've already missed:
there are too many tomorrows for this heart to take––
for though yesterday, getting dressed was a victory,
today, the sun’s warm lips are kissing my cold skin.

And that's just fine with me.

Some days are good days. Some days are bad ones. Trying to make everyday a good one is an impossible task for me. That's part of life's mystery, I guess. Wrinkles signify aging, perhaps maturity; the morning dew is the daily continuity of life.
A Yorks 5d

Wir hoben ein letztes mal die Gläser
— die waren aber völlig leer
Und sagten unserer Sünde Lebewohl
— Warfen die ins reißendes Meer.

Auf dich, O Teufel, Alkohol!
— dachte mal, du warst mein Freund
Hätte ich denn besser gewusst,
— würde ich denn alles bereuen?

Du, O Dämon in der Nacht,
— der meine Jahre gestohlen hat,
Durch dich ist alles zum Verlust,
— hör mich jetzt wohl — ich hab es satt.

Nimm dein Abschied,
Kein Blick zurück,
Hier gibt es gar kein Platz für dich,
O Teufel, Alkohol.

dear child:

you are so young. with a quiet demeanor and screaming conscience, you watched the one person in this world you looked up to and loved the most burn herself to the ground.

every snort, every syringe, every cut; you were there. you will help her, you will enable her. you will watch her crash and burn; but you will watch her arise from the ashes and be reborn.

you will blame yourself until it is seared in your mind that you are a part of her addiction. you will become addicted as well, soon. you will take blades to your skin and pray for the courage to push down. you will swallow handfuls of pills, praying for some release.

you will begin your elegant downward spiral as you begin to smoke and steal and drink and starve and manipulate and insert every single chemical you can into your body so you can forget what you have done and what it means to be what you are.

you will search for meaning where there is none. this search will drive you to the brink of madness. you will drop so much acid that the hallucinations you experienced won't go away. you will permanently change your brain and your life forever.
you will believe that it was all your fault, and you will never forgive yourself.

you will encounter demons in the smiling faces of your friends and family. yet utterly desperate and fed up, you will go on a serial killer spree; murdering every fucking creature that tormented and plagued you with endless misery.

this, of course, is in your head; as the doctors will tell you. it wasn't real. but you aren't convinced. you have  brought yourself to madness, and you insist on finding the truth. things are going to be hell, but hold on to that boy.

he is your knight in shining armor. your soulmate. your saving grace. he will help you get and stay sober. you will lose and find friends in strange places.

keep writing.

keep dreaming.

keep fucking fighting

because no matter how much you want to give up,
it will all be worth it for the people you shall help, and the lives you will change.

you have limitless potential to reach infinite heights and find your pure gold philosophy.

December 5th, 2014

a letter and reminder to my younger self.

it gets better, I promise.
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