We drink to forget the day to day routine's we have locked ourselves into.
We drink to remember the better days but if we drink too much it just makes it worse.
We drink to get rid of the nerves and hope it makes us charming and funny.

He asked me out for drink; so we drank.
He was beautiful in a classy way.
I loved his hair and those bright eyes and the drinks made him funnier then he was but I liked how he tried.

He told me stories about Christmas when he was ten.
He told me about his scars and his weird quirks people don't tend to notice.

He asked me for drinks and so, I drank.
I didn't tell him about Christmas when I was ten because my Christmas was filled with anger and screaming from my mother.
I didn't tell him about my scars because they came from drunken nights and fights with myself.
I didn't tell him about my quirks because I didn't have to tell him, he just seemed to know.

He told me I was quiet, something no one has ever told me before.
I smiled shyly and ordered another drink.
He grabbed my hand at the bar and I thought, wow, this is nice.

I also thought... how sad that a simple gesture can make me so self conscience and so sad.
How holding a beautiful, nice, and funny mans hand makes me think I am unworthy of such love.

And, so, I drank.
To forget.
To remember.
To... try and not self sabotage the possibility of a love that could last.

SELF SABOTAGE
Excuse me for I have sinned.
Read the rules in a book is what they told me.
Who made these rules
Who was HE?
Stay in the box or else they will scold me.
Be safe, be responsible, keep your head in the sand.
But I am an eagle you cannot keep me on land.
I cannot sleep my wild dreams have turned into my reality.
for I am consciously sabotaging the old me.

beautiful, it is
this life of mine
blessed in every way
struggle to find
the reasons behind
my restless state of mind
prone to self destruction
rhythmic disruption
break my own heart just to feel intensely alive

i put my eggs on the bottom of all my groceries.
i did it last time, and i'll do it again,
and i'll still act shocked when i open the carton and they've fallen apart.
i'll watch devastatingly as the yolk slips through my fingers;
i'll mourn for the money lost, mourn for the eggshells on my kitchen counter.

breakfast is the healthiest meal of the day, and mine is spread across my kitchen floor.
everyone walks on eggshells around me,
but i stomp on them.
i pour bacon grease on my legs;
the burn feels good for thirty minutes,
but the blisters become unbearable at thirty-one.

i didn't just spill the milk;
i poked a hole in the carton.
i watched it leak through, like blood seeping through a bandage;
i'm crying over spilled milk.
i'm always crying over spilled milk.

i want to grow out of this never ending stage of self sabotage;
i am the victim,
i am always the victim;
the child cries wolf and no one in town cares anymore;
the wolf can't be found,
because the child has swallowed it.

i am no good.
my kitchen is a mess,
i don't eat breakfast,
and i play the victim card like it's the only one left in the deck.
my groceries are in the dumpster out back;
i'm ravenous --
i'll eat you out of house and home.