it's a funny thing.
once you know, it's hard to forget.
can you force yourself out of remembering?
not the last time i checked...
now two years ago, i wrote this poem... it was about my sister's friend who at the time was only 13.
it’s over now. and you won’t remember,
you won’t recall your dress, your shoes.
your make up. the vodka a burning ember.
or even that mysterious bruise.
and they all knew as the night progressed,
the shattering pain that was to come.
the vomit splattered across your chest,
your heart no longer a steady drum.
and how did you get down those stairs?
how did you manage to leave?
the ambo’s helped you past those chairs,
you are just too naive.
no one’s ever going to trust you now,
how much freedom did you think they’d allow?
and it reminds me of just being a teenager.
every road we walk is "the same" but these roads we take diverge into different paths.
every mental journey is varied, and even if we take the same basic route, the experience is altered by
the way we perceive things.
and the way we react? undetermined.
and the way we react? undetermined.
and so we experiment, here and there, with substances, with people, with what we expose ourselves to... all just to live up to the idea of "how it is".
time, perhaps, then to realise, that we are the ones who lay out how it is: whether we are conscious of it or not.
time, perhaps, then to realise, that we are the ones who lay out how it is: whether we are conscious of it or not.
we have leeway though. i think we all know that. and for some of us it might mean taking it to the extreme: all or nothing: trying everything, or closing all of it out.
for others, it's about moderation... but sometimes that's not good enough the other half.
hey, each to their own.
and i can't really remember how i was before this... not unless i know it again.
xx,
R.
for others, it's about moderation... but sometimes that's not good enough the other half.
hey, each to their own.
and i can't really remember how i was before this... not unless i know it again.
xx,
R.
