The Naked Not the Dead
Because comfort is sometimes no comfort I can shave my hair and walk bare in the naked world. Removing pretense helps in unexpected ways. Foolish action becomes formulaic when you are scared or hurt. I lived through the summers of blood; the winter is not enough to stem the tide or heal the wound. I have no want to raise the dead, but how to save the living? Poverty is the inheritance of so much misguided lethargy and I must shear off the illusion of maturity and let the children speak.
Bury pettiness in an unmarked grave
Some days whining brats come at me from all directions
And my hair won’t curl,
Apathy chases me around the house.
I wonder how it has more energy than I do.
My mind twists into a wrinkled mess
I drag my good foot and hop on the bad one.
And even on those days I still rather be me.
I never long to be the innocent victim
Or spiritual leader, the tough guy or the Ph D.
No matter how bad it gets
Or what the struggle is
There is no place sweeter than in my head.
Many are the days I wished not to exist at all
But never to shuck my skin
for the skin of another.
Now that I manage breathe right
And to face each day with cheer
I know it was almost worth it
And might be worth it yet.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault