go get stupid

go get stupid
i put up a book
given to me
late for christmas
by a poet
i loved once
and still
want to fuck insanely
to draw blood
from his body
that is thin
and abused
like us poets
are when
we think too hard
and afterwards
we drink too much
and smoke too much
and we spend our nickels
on drugs when we should eat
because we think
then write and
have to
go get stupid
to forget
what we think

Let this be more of a cautionary tale than a recommendation.  The 18 year old who wrote this is now 31 and uses no drugs or alcohol.  And really wants to quit smoking cigarettes.  Nothing kills a muse like abuse.  I worried that I somehow needed to be messed up in order to write.  And was shocked that having a clear mind was like opening the gates, words came pouring out.  I’ve written more in the last six months than all the previous ten years combined.  And the boy I wrote this about?  I missed him terribly but his next girlfriend was much saner than I and refused to put up with the drunken shenanigans.  I had to admit she was better for him.


About m

My ego wants to think I'm a writer but my heart knows I'm just another one of God's Kids who sometimes has words to say. 2 human kids and 3 feline kids call me Mom. Or Mooooooom. Or mewom, depending which you ask. I'm kinda-sorta busy being a student again; this time I signed myself up for a bizarre torture known as Graduate School. Theoretically in 4ish years I'll have earned some more nice letters to put with my name. Let's face it, I'm addicted to learning and probably need rehab to restore me to sanity and remove the obsession to read books. I don't remember what free time is but I think I like to spend it sleeping or playing in the mud on a river bank.
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5 Responses to go get stupid

  1. Beautiful! I admire every piece I’ve read of yours but this one speaks the loudest to me. The honesty in which you share your drug use is blunt without an ounce of candy coating. Good for you!


    • m says:

      Thank you. No, there is nothing glamorous in drugs and booze. I loved that boy, one of two real loves in my life, but we nearly destroyed each other. To this day I don’t know how I managed to un-selfishly let him go, to love him enough to accept that I was really, really bad for him. Addiction has a way of twisting love, even great love, into something selfish and fearful. He wasn’t exactly good for me either, there was one night he went out drinking without me and I ended up carrying a potted plant into denny’s at 2:30 in the morning in a snow storm in February! Nothing to see here…. 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Pingback: this is the last stop… | stories of survival

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