Self medicating:

Why is self medication

So wrong

Unless it’s meditation?

Alcoholics with their bottles

Me with my bong

Do I draw a line at the needle?

Do I write it out of my song?

I haven’t touched one

I won’t,

But that doesn’t mean

I don’t

Feel the need

To get higher

To escape sometimes

From a world on fire

A poem full of rhyme

It’s driving me crazy,

Time.

It isn’t direct

It’s not quite

Linear,

Unchecked

We just might

Forget

What it looked like

When we were kids

And so we take to the streets

To sex, drugs, and beats

Because it beats

Being beaten or

Knocked down every time

That we stand up.

Right now

We soar high above

A world

Full of so much worry

Do we evade the worry forever?

Never.

Eventually we come down

Or the sun catches us on fire

More directly than before

But some of us don’t mind

The burn anymore

We are moths blind but drawn

To light

We know it must hold

More than

The night.

We take flight

And forget what it’s like

To be grounded

Have we ever been grounded?

It’s like the end

Of something we used to grasp

But don’t remember how to anymore

Aging doesn’t happen with time.

40 year olds can act like children.

Twenty somethings like us,

Old men

Old friends

Playing across a chess board

Quick to laugh

At the wit of the other

Two brothers.

I hope that being old In my young age

Means I get to explore

Life a little fuller than those

Who came before me.

I write my own story and

I will find the strength

To keep

Both feet on the ground

And my heart

In the stars

And my head

In the clouds.