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When I was young no one said stop this aint for teens
It was fun then when it was in
But not when you want out
And the behavior is no longer funny
Hot then, Not now,
Cool then, Mild sound
Heart beat pounds now
No where to turn now
But stop wait you got this
Its 14 days you ain't miss
You didn't miss the alarm
'Cause you didn't oversleep
Snores so loud cause liquor got you deep
Sunday dinners now prep and ready
Minds a bit clear, steps are steady
Meds are working, it has no counter part
I think this is the beginning, where you start
Water has flushed you well
Your organs have seemed to meet their bail
I didn't know then what I know now
But if you told me then I still would probably frown
Would probably not listen nor put my liquor, shot, or chaser down
There's a reason the limit is 21 and not 18
Here's to starting when I did
and finishing when I do
Mostly to day 14
Started young finished old.
I’ve drunk enough—
don’t fill my glass again.
All you’ve ever offered,
I’ve gulped down to the grain.
Pleasure’s senses never sate;
for me, they’re just a stain.

I have this body like all others,
a hungry dog
that waits beneath the table
and eats all that falls from it.

Did no one warn you?
Never feed the dog at dinner.
Do it, and he’ll haunt your chair—
whimpering and begging for another taste.

Can’t you see the feast is laid?
Silver platters, crystal bright!
You’re the guest who’s free to taste,
to drink the banquet’s blinding white.

Is it the dog who gets the scraps,
does not care and all devours?
—Exactly!— and once he's finished,
he'll come begging, craving more.

Don’t blame the dog when he invades
your sacred feast.
You shout, you punish his demands,
yet you fed this beast.

Now discern. Divide. Rearrange.
Let each thing keep its name.
The dog in the dog’s domain.
The master at his plate.
All my poems are related with the music I compose and perform. Piano solo, modern classical/jazz style. I will provide more information when I make a good recording. My work try to explain my life philosophy. Philosophy that first are acts, and then I try to explain with music and words.
Lemon Black Mar 26
The leaflet reads:
“Be mindful of your desires,
be careful
where they come from
and where they’re heading.
Use drive to drive choice.
Be the one who decides
before you join in
and follow along.
Otherwise
the path to your freedom
is then walked down
bare feet and bare mind.
The good ol’ valley of yours.”
Inside your own head, own voice,
while taking a handful.
We know the details but don’t know the truth of what really runs through the head when poisons run through the veins, poisons of all sorts. The experience seems real, the calling very much so, so strong that we decide to answer, despite our reason objecting. It is its most shameful moment of losing control over a creature domesticated eons ago. The beast rushes to the electric fence only for shocks and burns, not even trying to escape, rebelling yet still yoked. How many times before it tries another path, and does the path lead only to the destination? Through seeking come findings.
Andy Denson Mar 22
change is the only constant
but being is open-hearted
& loving more.

i don’t want to be so
drunk
that i wake up in gun hill road.
home on new year’s day. 7 am.

for me, you can always reclaim a
sense of sanity
even in a time of chaos.

there are many things that
one
cannot reclaim.

why should i try?
if those things are gone…

did i need them in the
1st place?

self-worth comes back.
things get stolen.
for something
new.
This poem reflects on the tumultuous journey toward sobriety and self-discovery. It grapples with the desire for change, the fear of losing oneself, and the realization that some losses pave the way for newfound self-worth. The imagery of waking up on Gun Hill Road symbolizes moments of reckoning, while the contemplation of what is truly necessary invites readers to consider the essence of personal growth.
Jonah Singleton Dec 2024
What substance was it?

The culmination of diamond-like shards
crushed and, then, melted into a precarious liquid
a liquid that follows the sway of a glass sphere attached to a glass stem
the end of which is rested between my lips
the length of the stem, itself, is clutched and rested between my index finger and my thumb
large clouds of odorless smoke besets the circumference of my bust as I exhale
immediate!
This substance will soon serenade the totality of my biology’s neurology.
Break that pipe now!
Simple glass that can be stepped on
crushed beneath feet!

What substance was that?
A human is free now
emancipated
the new substance of their affection is sobriety!

Author’s note: please, abate or diminish your substance abuse, if you have one. And, despite what I have alluded to within this poem, “sobriety” is never easily obtained, yet, it is very much worth the effort to obtain it.
Traveler Dec 2024
A seed of type
  dormant within
10 to 20 years
can slip pass
again and again..

Still the seed is sprouting
in every part of life
I can see it in my children
I can feel it in my wife.

A bean stalk so grandeur
it stretches to the sky
I wouldn't let another 10 years
of good living pass me by.
Traveler Tim

I love living!
Kay Jasmine Nov 2024
Here's to trying to write after all these years
after all my wrongs, all my fears
just for this moment to finally feel alright
you have grown, you put up a good fight
you adapted a love for beer and long walks
you've learned to open up and have those necessary talks
you sang all those sad songs and found happy ones
you've even learned that not every battle needs guns
life didn't come with instructions
no please follow as shown
the beauty of life is figuring it out on our own
Here's to breaking your shell and seeing more sunlight
you can stop now, you put up a good fight.
#sober #herestogrowth
PERTINAX Nov 2024
Spinning, out of control,
I can see the bottom
Gnarly hands dripping sinew
Grasping at my feet
Eager for me to join
Their twisted feast
Where hunger is not the mode
To satiate the emptiness
But a bitter thirst
To quench the infernal fires
That fed fuel to their burning desire
For me to join them in the abyss
Of loneliness built atop bones of pleasure
Piled up high with lost souls
Who were too weak to look up
And see the sky where birds fly
Or the trees and their lovely greens
A beautiful scene of all the things
Which will be left behind
If I continue to hide and not seek
The wonderful world beyond the drink

So, up I climb
Never to look back
Into the deep
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