Aquamarine

a poem

Photo by Yousef Espanioly on Unsplash

There was a time when I
hated my sister for blowing
the candles out sooner
Now, each March, I recall
shared birthday parties
never worth attending:

Not in my father’s eyes
nor my mother’s, again
I remember what’s it like
to have never been wanted.

I trace the ebbing of a
hypothetical: I wouldn’t
be here listening
to a ventilator.

They call it meth, we call
it escape, but how many
pills do you actually need
to forget your name?

One- two- three- god, it’s
really not enough; you
need a cocktail, sip, shoot,
how many lessons are
learned per cc of a vial?

Zero. Bag in the wind.
You get high to remember
I write poems to forget
who I am; distorted in
my lineaments by a
drunken experience