Drink

 The smell of the open bottle was lingering from the table. He had never been all that much of a drinker before, however he has found that the alcohol appeared to be growing stronger as he was growing weaker. "I'll never become that man" He had always said in his mind, while passing down judgment on those who struggled with the very issues he was facing now.  The seconds slowly ticked away from the clock he had hanging on the far wall as he glared at the dark brown bottle. He caught the reflection of his fixed gaze on the glass. His eyes stared into what he saw as a stranger, what he didn't want to believe was himself, a reflection of what he has become. He took a long deep breath and reached for a glass. It was a cold night, like many other nights. He was alone that night like most other nights. Lately, however, He was feeling quite more cold and alone than usual. With the pain of feeling nothing stinging strong, he poured the whiskey. He watched as each splash and drop washed over the silvery white polish of the ice. The drink wasn't judgmental. It didn't stare at him with overwhelming disapproval at his wasting potential. It didn't ask him for money or demand unrealistic expectations of him. In many ways, he felt that it was a better friend than half the friends he's known in his days. In an attempt to dull the awareness, the glass was tipped. Each ounce that poured past his lips was a problem without a solution washing away. Each sip carried a burden away.

Fat lip

I keep saying stuff. 

I'll be relating in the course of conversation and share something that stems from my personal history of being choked out on thanksgiving or my brother running away or being poor or living in a condemned building or a number of messed up things that are uncomfortable in conversation 

and then I'll make a joke about kissing or something innocuous  and that's where people are like "Oh my stars, oh golly, oh no thats so out of pocket" and I'll be standing on the outside of it feeling judged, and I know that I'm probably most definitely feeling sensitive about it on account of therapy throwing explosives into the stillness of my emotional waters... 

But I just feel that distance between where I'm from and where all you are from.

I think about the worlds we know. The evils we've overcome and the things that try to destroy us.  I wouldn't fully know how to unmake myself to fit in the places I'd hope to be, to belong. It's made me strong, how many times I've been destroyed over and over again. I've grown from each thing I've overcome. Yet, I understand that there are ways of a grown man of which I see that not all see.  

 I am aware of how much space I fill in a room, and I try to be smaller out of love to give space and freedom for those to express themselves. 

These confessions are laced with opportunities for the love those of God may bring.  

I look outside myself  and see you say I'm welcome here... 
But if I am here, I will break your illusions 

I don't mean to be a loaded gun in the sandbox. Just some fat lip spilling blood while the kids play.