A SERIES OF ALCOHOLIC-ISMS
poetry written from the day that i finally felt like i had control, for myself
I. Absinthe as anaesthesia
u won’t understand
until it happens
there are times
in life
when u are not in the hospital
but need anaesthesia
for example, and for instance,
when u wake up when u have bruising
with him on top of u all around your neck
and it is too late under the necklace he bought u
to try to move that u wear every day
because he is already and u have class tomorrow
finished and u know most people won’t ask
and has rolled over or care
and fallen asleep and those who do feign concern
without a single will be placated by the least convincing excuse
caress sweet word or kiss but u need to convince yourself
and forget how it happened
and for example,
when u r so broke and such as when,
and u have enough money u know what is coming
tonight and that it will hurt
for either one sandwich but for fear or impracticality
or one u can not leave
cheap bottle of wine so all u can do is prepare
and u buy
the wine and finally,
because u r going to be hungry tomorrow there r circumstances when it is simply
anyway out of ur hands
but maybe because he is pouring it into ur immobile body
if this wine is just cheap enough to make u more obedient, to make u
and just strong enough not remember
you can just sleep through the whole day and the next day, all u can remember
is that u need a fucking drink
II. Tequila tuesdays
i say when u r in physical danger
i’m going to the bar u run, ur brain, ur heart, every cell says run
and i will be home in a few hours but when u run
and no one thinks it is weird ur brain comes with u
for a girl like me so i run to the bar
to go to the bar alone and place my mind in the hands of
on a tuesday afternoon the bartender, like she is my trainer
because she must be writing at my gym
she must be studying and tell her to help me
she must be people watching run away, work it out
and i wish i was
doing those things
because all those things
are very good & fun & important
and a much better
use of time
than what it is that i am doing
at the bar alone
on a tuesday afternoon
not writing
not studying
not people watching
except to make sure that no one i know
has seen me order my fourth
double shot of tequila
because, i suppose,
i’m lucky to have such caring people
in my life
but i can not think like that
on mornings when i awake into
a void, which finds me
like a blood-sniffing shark
and swallows me whole
into its ravenous, dry mouth
chest heaving, jaws snapping
all i can think of
is running
III. I drink wine like shots
i wish i wish i were by myself
i had gone out tonight and i could drink myself into
with someone else the swirling stupor that is just
or even by myself a little too much
and not because, dear friend, but only then will my body & my mind say,
not because i don’t like you “i finally feel the alcohol. tonight has been worth it”
but because i do like you and i can stumble home, accompanied by
and i would like you to still like me stars & confusing street lights
so i need to hide the shame and i can sink into music
that in fact, i can not have feeling each word, but not hearing any of it
“just one drink” let the carefully crafted orchestra
and the fact that i’d rather be here of fiona apple of too much vodka
with bailey, cristal, sherry, & stella of that last cocktail
better company for a girls’ night out that really tipped me
on nights when my mind is blanking over the edge
and my concentration is waning rise in grandeur & deafen me
and u won’t stop talking until there is nothing to do
about so-and-so but fall into the paradoxical silence of cacophony
i wish i had someone else
to throw back a drink
or two
or six
IV. I can drink u under the table any day, any time
they want it all if i am the one
they want the me who makes u laugh
that picks u up if i am the storm
and tells u to get in at every desert of a party
we’re going on an adventure then i must be her
they want the me at all times
that spins tales
of where i’ve gone and it is true
who i’ve met because that girl will always be in me
they want the me and at the same time,
that will regale them all it is so false
with stories of like i am a sour patch kid
blurry streets & kissing
in places you should not be kissing they won’t let my soul grow & change
with people that they should not be missing though it will always be housed
from my life in its original walls
because good riddance
if u really care for me
for they want to live
vicariously thru me
crushing pills
for their pigments
pastel blues, greens, yellows, pinks,
and how i used them to
paint the world
and the one time
i set fire to water
and they want the me
who doesn’t make them sick with worry
i learned from my favourite song by mitski
that “the liberty bell
is a replica silently housed
in its original walls”
V. Freedom fighter
maybe it is because
my grandfather was an alcoholic & my grandma was born the year india gained independence
or perhaps
because
unintentionally, unknowingly
i began to drink at 14-
an overall, innocuous & funny story,
but for another time-
but it is as though
there was always a small hole in me as a child
like my veins didn’t properly connect
until vodka found its way into my veins
and tied it all together, a bridge to my heart
my mind is always so restless
and my body is always so lethargic
and intoxicated me
is the opposite
which i love
u can drown your feelings
heighten your senses
fall asleep with no fear of bad dreams
u can dance without fear
laugh without shame
and it helps a silenced woman
break out of the tangle of
spider webs & snakes
handcuffs & chains
bound by others or self imposed
either way, the freedom is like being on
temporary parole
it is hard to let go of
VI. Jack & jim & me makes three
why do girls say
the only men i need
are jack & jim
just like any man,
they’ve both let me down
countless times
when jack convinced me
to text that girl
and when he told me
i was good to drive
i found myself in a ditch
(and the girl never texted me back)
and jim has broken my heart, as well
several times
when i threw up,
he wouldn’t hold my hair
when i cried & writhed on the bathroom floor
he laughed & told me i deserved it
for flirting & dancing with him all night
the thing is though,
we’ve loved together, danced together, had fights
but ultimately, they’re the ones who r always there
at the beginning & end of every night
VII. Cheers to u
it makes u selfish.
it makes u cry
it makes u mean
it makes u resentful
it makes u lie
but it doesn’t make me cry- i’m a happy drunk
it doesn’t make me mean- i’m a loving drunk
it doesn’t make me resentful- i’m forgiving & warm
it doesn’t make me lie- i never cheat & always tell the truth
and i do not drink that much anyway
and it is a choice
and i know my limits
and i haven’t even been drinking, okay
those bottles r old, just decor
there’s alcohol in perfume & hand sanitiser, & that’s how come i smell
and when i am drunk, i’m still fine
you’d never know
and that is how i made u cry
and that is how i was mean
and that is why i became resentful
and that is how i lied
and that is how i was selfish.
VIII. Wherever u go, there u are
what do u see in your drunken haze?
i see promises
of more fruitful tomorrows
of ceaseless bursts of creativity & energy
i look at myself in the mirror
and see perfection
(the alcohol blurs my pores just so)
but like i’m looking at myself in a magazine
admiring myself & preening like a myna bird
i am not with myself
and then, when it all comes crashing down
-and it will come crashing down
maybe not at this party
maybe not at next sunday’s brunch
but when u least expect it-
and then what do u see?
it is in those moments
that i realise
u can build fantasy worlds of escapism to immerse yourself in
try your very best to deliberately disconnect from reality
black out so u forget the day…or two
so life moves faster
without your active participation
u can try to escape your mind
with alcohol & acid & sleep & tv
u can move, u can run away
but wherever u go, in your head or real life, there u are.
IX. Hard liquor
i realised one day
when i was restlessly contemplating
going to the bar for the day
i had woken up once more
with the feeling of dread
of how do i fill one more day
all the hours
and the expanse of time to follow
every day, monotonous
every day, unable to be present
even if it is so fun
but it was that day that i realised,
the sun felt warmer
than whiskey in my throat
and my hands feel better in his
than holding a drink in each
and sometimes it hurts to remember
but it hurts so much worse to forget
there was a time when i didn’t care
who i hurt & worried
the doors i shut in people’s faces
the things i said when i wasn’t myself (which is no excuse)
and maybe i didn’t care cuz i didn’t remember
i want to remember. i want to know. i want to care.
i don’t want to wake up somewhere i’ve never been ever again
or wake up with food in my bed. or with an injury. or after narrowly escaping death
i don’t want to hallucinate & cry & hurt myself & lose my mind
and i realised my heart & mind & body
make up a spirit
that is stronger than all the hard liquor in the world
I love this.
I think it might be reading in the wrong order on mobile Chrome tho?
Even if it might be in the wrong order, the words are still so beautiful and profound and deep x
Gonna re read it when I’m at my PC!