Veteran of the addiction wars, I have scars but few medals. I don’t need a purple heart, mine is black and blue. I don’t keep trophies either, no empty bottles or old syringes. Hostages, I have released them, too. I found often they held me from what my life could be. I wear my defects and wave my flag. I am slowly learning to live in peacetime. The big battles have been won; it is up to me to stop replaying the scenes of engagement. Armistice is a beautiful thing; too bad there is no better way to get to it.
Write the dedication page for your life.
Queens: More than a Borough
My drama is bigger than yours.
My drama can kick your drama’s ass.
Well maybe not, but it sure is kicking mine.
Like a rain soaked grave, I stand in this muddy hole,
sides slick, unassailable and count the piles of tragedy ,
all the while knowing it will bury me
not facilitate a climb out.
I attempt to display the face of comedy
and yet the mask can not fool me, my true audience.
I think if I can keep it all up on stage I will be alright,
But then the point of theater is
that everything is carried away
in the minds of all who come and watch.
Silence doesn’t help either
for there is little worse than a bad mime
and doing it well just makes me Lillian Gish.
So, back to Bohemia for isn’t it all a rhapsody,
though it would all be so much better
if Freddy Mercury weren’t dead.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault