at what point, between my addiction and my recovery,
did my glorious team of white stallions,
pulling the weight of an ordain and luxurious carriage,
become a combination of crossbred white ponies,
stuck in the mud, as a stroll to release the weight
that comes from dragging a broken-axle paddy wagon?

for myself, the beast I rode was far more
then a gracious and powerful creature.
but less than a creature, and more an entity;
my horse, was a dangerously, powerful, entity.

unengaged from people and places,
I've been clean, I peer at myself
through the hazy, muddied waters,
almost a decade of painful reflection,
I pale in comparison to who I once was.

paint liquor — used to re-invent a fourth wheel,
to cover in eccentricity and whimsicality,
a glorified trailer with sitting room, lies on its side
overturned — drips of custom, view-mixing,
mind-altering, belief- changing, idea-warping colors
deep into the riders trapped within the overturned buggy.

an idea is planted, by that un-creature,
that entity. that belief. that principle.
a most profound sobriety allows an unseen perspective, to sprout from an unseen eye
scratching it's way to the surface, just out of sight .

why?
less misplaced prejudice; more support & progressive attitudes.
less hypocritical judgement; more love & positivity

the riders, now having lost their sight, as a result,
of having looking aquittingly down their noses, un-
blind eyes in the past, scarred by years of hypocrisy,
reach the same conclusion as I.

when did the "magic" leave
that team of traumatized white horses,
stranded, to find themselves again?
why is it socially acceptable for anyone
to pass judgement in any form, on anyone?
do we see ourselves as great as the immortal
God, gods and goddesses that created us?

while in a sense, some of us are creators,
we are not the immortals whom laid a trap
so intricate that the population never saw,
the worldwide epidemic that would poison
an entire planet, full of mortal beings would
ever be able to find their way out,

not alone, at least. keeping that in mind, I am
reminded of how those mixed breed creatures
made their way over our borders, giving their lives
crossing the land barriers, after the water's, simply
to let people live as glamorized & romanticized
as they saw in the lives of their picture shows,
or heard over the talking radio, or the nostalgia
to be part of what seemed to be a fantasy world.

an entire population used the silk road that now
ties, a disgraceful stigma, to any one, without hidden
knowledge of what the consequences to choices
that discriminatory divided society will name 'freak,'
'forgivable,' 'unworthy,' 'unwelcome,' 'unimportant,'
abominations, members of the same human species.

we paved the way for you! society's exception to
"the rule." it can be hard to see clearly, when the
mind becomes clouded due to the effects of alcohol,
or through your glamorized crystal highball glass,
or your ½" thick, fish bowl sized cocktail glass,
not to mention tomorrow morning's bloodshot eyes
(which matches your Merlot the night prior)

so an entire society despises your sickness.
leaves you to fend for yourself, or treats you
with "tough love," as they cut you off completely.
left, untreated, to wither away from your disease.

prove them wrong. prove every one, wrong.
you're stronger than they think. the grit that you
only learn being in the streets and living that life.
hustle. call. wait. call. wait. call. frantic injection;
ease.
ease of pain, of life's horrors and an ugly truth.
un-numb yourself and remind everyone, and anyone,
EXACTLY, who the hell you are.

the saddest part is, that realizations can, in fact, come too late.

sentimentally, from a place of once-upon-a-time minded-ness, as I rechronicalize an unforgivable
precedent, I set before myself in naivety,
I write this to you as a warning,
a means to raise awareness:
no one is better than another. no one has the power to make you any less of yourself.
under the influence, or not, we are who we are,
and all we should be,
is love.




© MamasMobocracyMusings