The trap door of my mind opens occasionally and I find myself acting out things better left to conversation. When I leave too many things unsaid, the pressure builds and the door opens. My thoughts connect with my body minus the benefit of my brain, not to mention the brain of my sponsor. I can ill afford the consequences of these open door exhibitions and I am obligated to spend much time scrambling up the hills my outlandishness slid down. Thinking, speaking and contemplating, the prerequisites of action, must be done frequently or my mind’s sink, piled with my dirty dishes, will flood the counter top, then leave dishes crashing to the floor. Even if I can’t keep everything caught up, at least I can leave things soaking. I can start notes or little chats so I am not weighting the latch. I can prevent the coupling of impulse and exploit. All I have to do is stick out my tongue.
Release your emotions from captivity.
Like an Elf Working in an Empty Tree
The chairs in the loft are empty,
but I still hear the choir sing.
The bottle though it’s empty,
still sometimes calls my name.
Though front pocket is empty
and there is rolled up empty sleeve,
still the nicotine haunts my dreams.
On this empty road I travel,
I still long for company.
The stillness is not all that’s empty,
but I run to fill that spot.
Chaos is like a tapeworm
it eats me from the inside,
but in the meantime I still believe it’s filling me.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault