School books never liked me, I’ve always known
but it’s not my fault! I like to have fun
and take swigs while smelling like acetone.
I suppose I’m an acquired taste, like guns?
Sometimes when I stand up too fast, I fall,
and sometimes when I cry too hard, I ball.
Doctor says water goes best with Tylenol,
but it tastes better with some alcohol.
My head feels like it’s splitting into two,
there’s no amount of medicine to help.
I’ve tried covering my mouth with some glue,
but ethanol seems to dissolve it well.
I think I shouldn’t drink this toxic brew,
but hell, “what’s one more swig going to do?”
I wrote this poem for one of my poetry classes and I kind of liked how it turned out so I thought I would share it!
