there's an ache in my chest
that i cannot place.
it could be the alcohol talking,
but i tend to manage my words just fine.
the rift in the system comes from
a long line of ancestors who thought
drinking themselves under the table
would allow them to hide from reality.
the hurt i possess
is my own creation,
new money in an old money body
just some fresh paint over cracks in the surface.
raise a glass to those
who never learned how to handle their emotions
because emotion is weakness
and we don't pull faces when we shoot our liquor.
tears are saved for births and funerals,
when we make life our bitch and die never learning what it meant it live.
but this,
this is not how i want life to be for me.
i want tears to well in my eyes
every time i see a sunrise over the mountains.
i want streaks to run down my face
when they say things that piss me off,
because i deserve to feel.
wholly, entirely, and purely.
but i sure as hell
will never pull a face when i shoot my liquor.
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