Hope, Don't Let Me Down

Hope, Don't Let Me Down 03-30-2010

So, there I was,

the blithering mess,

the quivering boy,

left to my devices,

of self destruct and loathing,

not knowing if I could walk again,

let alone stand.

Then enters desperation,

not the kind that you think,

the one dripping promises

of escape from the pain,

the hurt of a lifetime,

from lack of defenses

not wielded in years.

Begrudgingly lifted

the haphazard shields,

so awkward and clumsy,

too heavy a burden

for simultaneously wanting,

hoping,

to let someone in.

The shields were lose bandages,

a covering of sorts,

still sloppily placed

with gaps left intentional

to feel the sting of air,

to know it was real,

to know I was still alive

The hope was an ointment,

a temporary crutch,

turned addiction to the dream,

the sweet flavor of 'what if?',

got drunk-sick off its prospect,

hung-over from awaiting,

still I nursed at the bottle.

I know there is an answer

laced at the bottom

of the swagger decanter,

I drink of the nectar,

and spit of the bitter,

a race to the bottom,

a race to salvation.

My hope in a bottle,

my hope in another,

my hope in myself,

my hope of the future,

my hope in hope itself.

Hope, don't let me down,

and I promise to do the same.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s funny how I have repetitively referenced drinking and alcohol in some of my more recent poems.  Thinking back on them, I can see the allure and similarities.  To crave for and find joy in something that could potentially hurt you or let you down seems to be my biggest recent struggles; the disappointment that would come from the source of my greatest happiness that could pose a threat to me as my greatest woe.  Although I’m not an alcoholic, I can comparatively see the ongoing struggle within between oneself and the bottle.  My figurative bottle: the never-ending chase for the elusive content and happiness and wrestling to keep hope alive against possible failure.  Doesn’t seem like much… 
... but then again, neither does a shot.