“You’ve Been Missed” PND
Hey y’all, I don’t have much to say today. Except that I’ve been going to open mics at the Cantab Lounge in Cambridge and it’s been amazing to be inspired by other writers, buy their work, and really participate in a poetry community that always grows and has something new to offer. So I wrote this after a big ol’ shot of Johnny Walker on my way home. I thought about someone that I miss, who doesn’t miss me, and I resolved this would be the last thing I write about him. I get to reclaim my time and reclaim my art, especially from people that don’t appreciate my heart. So it’s whatever now, but never again hun. No more. So enjoy this piece called Bottles for the Boy.
Bottles for the Boy
You remind me of black label.
Not like the burn.
Not like the soft buzz that sways in my veins.
But you give me hang overs.
Everyone knows what I mean when they say I look tired and I say you visited me.
They know I haven’t seen you in years.
But I’ve seen enough of you to notice that you’re gone.
You’ve been missed, but you don’t acknowledge that.
You hang me over the railings of my subconscious,
A mob boss looking to bury the truth
With cement choking my heels,
The last evidence of your humanity is what stands between you and your future.
A future where I was a loose end.
A future where you can drink dark liquor and not think of me.
You remind me of black label.
Not the deep amber in my glass.
Not the tip I gave for filling it to the top.
You remind me of trying to tell my drunk friends I love them.
In case they don’t remember tomorrow because today is too heavy when it sits on their shoulders.
In case they don’t witness the sun open it’s eyes
In case they need someone to describe what tomorrow looks like.
My brain has carpal tunnel from holding on to you all night.
I tell it to let you go, to let you sleep in the present—where you get enough rest without me.
It takes a swig of grandfathers drink and turns over to defend your retreating figure
Watching over you like grandfathers clock
Measuring all the time he’s missed being dead.
I’ve missed too much time being dead to you, so I take another grandfather drink
And watch you like your past.
You remind me of black label.
Not because of the sips I take instead of downing it like a big girl.
Not because I am apprehensive until it makes me feel good.
You remind me of questions.
Like where am I?
Why aren’t you here?
Why don’t you care that I’m somewhere you aren’t?
You remind me of my existential questions that gnaw at me.
Testing me on how many chromosomes I have
And tempting me to strangle my brain cells.
You are the piece of God I haven’t seen in a while.
The New Testament, where He came as a living sacrifice for all of my wounds I still don’t trust Him to heal,
And I love him back by refusing to drink black label.
But in time God finds me at the bar
Where you’re bottled up on a shelf for the price of eternity.
Thanks y’all
