Existential Global Positioning

Existential Global Positioning

I smell like the store I bought this shirt from. It reeks of Instant gratification. I want a cigarette But my coffee cup is empty And anyway It’s cold out there. I stare at the people outside And pretend their nicotine Is for me. I found the historic part of this town: My GPS directed me, Via satellite, Back in time. Original flooring Holds up the humans In plaid flannel shirts, [Me included,] And original brickwork And fairy lights And stone steps And tattoos. I am obsessed by time And juxtaposition And where I fit. Cities are too big, Skies void of stars, And one horse towns Far too small. I am The wrong size For both. My ideas Are too large for my brain And too ahead Of my current location. I can cross A hundred time zones In buses, planes, and cars, But...

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Twenty Five

Twenty Five

A year ago today, I published a poem along with text messages from my father, outing him as an abuser and an alcoholic who refuses to take responsibility for his actions. I was always there for him and remain unappreciated. I have forgiven him for what he has done to me. What I cannot forgive is what he said about my mother. And I learned from him, and took a step forward, and haven’t spoken to him since. Read “Father Dearest” here. I’ve spent a lot of time in the rooms of AA. Try as I might I couldn’t get my head around a higher power, and around having to give up drinking for the rest of my life at the age of twenty-three. I viewed it as an ending and as a compromise of my ideals. I first entered AA in January of 2014. I went to meetings, went to...

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Linear

Linear

Healing Is not linear. People seem to forget that. It’s so easy to believe the bad- To make a snap judgement When someone in recovery, Or you, yourself, Falls off, picks up, Or makes a bad decision. Sobriety Does not promise An easy life Or immediate, Significant, Changes. It does not mean That you’re healed Or that this journey Will ever have an end. A recovering addict Will be in recovery Until they die. It requires work And vigilance But also love And forgiveness And acceptance. It means loving yourself More than your illness. Addiction is a sickness, Substance abuse the symptom. There are many steps, Many interior factors, That go into picking up Your drug of choice. There are mental patterns To be changed And broken And rebuilt, differently. How do you fight...

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Mister Nice Guy

Mister Nice Guy

I shouldn’t be scared. It’s the middle of the day; I’m surrounded by people. But there’s two men On this train That make my hair stand on end And the thing is, You just can’t really trust people. You just never know. Man number one Is stood to my left on the platform, As I absentmindedly sway To Frank Sinatra’s voice In my headphones. I keep catching his gaze Out of the corner of my eye. My peripheral vision is 20/20. He’s close enough That I can smell him- Stale cologne and booze And fear. No wait, That last one is me. I look straight ahead Because this is the type of man I am used to. This stranger With his extra-large eyes And overstated sneer, His nearly imperceptible nod Is familiar to me. I know him; I’ve met dozens of his comrades. But now there’s another....

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You’re Not Decent [Eve]

You’re Not Decent [Eve]

What if you woke up one day with no knowledge of who you were? This original short story explores how we would feel about our bodies without societal pressure- if we didn’t know our ‘flaws’ were flaws.     I’m not exactly sure where I am. There’s a draft coming in from the open window, the sun is shining. I see dust particles shimmer through the air as I throw back the covers. I think I should be afraid, but what I feel is more wonder than terror. I jump back in surprise when I pass a window. But it’s not a window, it’s a mirror. I don’t recognize me. Who am I? My hair is disheveled, messy ringlets fall out of what’s left of a ponytail. My body feels cushiony and soft and warm. I am pleasantly fuzzy- the sun shines across my hairy...

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