Author Information
Sober
There's a warm glow that comes with the second sip—
the anticipation of forgetting everything that scratches you raw
There's a comfort in putting up that shield —
generations before me used it to ward off the lunacy (only making it stronger)
There's something about the independence of it all —
it made me stubborn.
Who's going to stop me? Who's going to notice my new aesthetic?
Through the haze, I couldn't see my critics.
Or I could but another drink and they'd be gone, like my sanity, my lovely, my poetry.
In 10 days, it will be seven years of sober, and most people will never understand the affliction.
They'll say "congratulations" and order another vodka soda.
And I'll toast to them.
And maybe one day I'll tell the whole truth outside of the rooms.
But until then, I'll dance in wild gratitude for everything gained in seven years sober.
