We went out one evening for a picnic, But you already decided that it would be him that you would
Swallow my words,
Nod my head,
For these words can’t be said.
Follow the rules,
To meet up to expectations,
But in the end, we are just fools.
Believing that we are imprisoned,
Allowing others to restrict us,
This isn’t the life we envisioned.
“What is really stopping me?”
There are no shackles,
Physically I am free.
Then the answer becomes clear,
I am held captive by my mind,
And my mind is controlled by fear.
I have never been drunk from an alcoholic beverage,
I suppose that gives you some type of leverage.
When I see you, a feeling of drunkenness begins to strike
Me. This is the type of intoxication that I like.
I feel it now, my words begin to slur,
Everything around us becomes a mere blur.
I hear the sound of clashing wine cups in
My head. Sobriety is quickly exiting my skin.
I drink your words, your scent, your existence, until the very last
Drop. I remember the empty glass
Of my heart, only filled by the sweet wine
Composed of your eyes, lips, and hands meeting mine.
To you I toast and drink,
By you, I am drunk. I clink
My glass with that belonging to you,
Secretly hoping that I will intoxicate you too.
Oh, well, it looks like we meet again, Your presence marks the feeling of acid rain. I love you, But
I know that you have a hard time accepting that I’m grown, But it is time for me to start
When we were little, we would grab a pencil, marker, or crayon and draw on whatever we wanted to. We would draw our mommies, daddies, and grandparents, yet no matter what we drew, or what it was supposed to be, it always ended up being a bunch of squiggly lines. However, when we would show it to our mom, her face would make an “O” and her eyes would become really big as she would say, “Wow! This is great sweetie, this really looks like…” This would cause us to beam and interrupt, “It’s you mommy!” The response would follow something along the lines of, “I knew that, you just didn’t give me a chance to say it.” She would then take it and put it with the pile of drawings that were all drawn by you, and looked the same, with the exception of different colors, on what was once her refrigerator. Scribble scrabble occurs when we have a picture in our minds but are not yet able to truly capture it into a physicality.
Two roads unfold, Unable to take both, I must decide: Should I be bold? Or stick with the routine that