National Poetry Month: Inside the mind of an Alcoholic

National Poetry Month pushes forward and I continue to celebrate in my own custom; through music and lyrics.  This one comes from an old, broken alcoholic's perspective. This man spent his life fighting, though now he has forgotten why.  He looks back with regret, wanting only release...

THE CALLUSES I BEAR

What do I have to show for these calluses I bear?

The scars in my mind,

The ceaseless wear and tear?

Merely the years I fought to be wanted, and those I fought to be alone.

These knobs about my palms warn others, of how old and hard I’ve grown.

Thick and ugly my extra skin reminds me of who I’ve been,

Of all the wrongs I’ve gone and done, and all the shit that I’ve seen,

Like a nameless collar around my neck, it marks me as a stray,

But without its familiar cinch,

I don’t know what it is I’d be.

I hide within this map which reveals the time I’ve gone and wasted,

And look ahead in a clouded daze,

Fueled by protective hatred.

I’ll be alone when that last hour comes to crack the shell and release me,

It’s my last chance to forget this skin, and why it was it encased me.

What do I have to show, for these calluses I bear?

Feelings numbed, time lost,

God, get me out of here!

What do I have to show, for these calluses I bear?

Wasted years, useless tears, and damn no good despair.

Will ivory hands rest upon my head and lift the weight that anchors?

Will darkness be my eternal sight with a cold black hand that clenches?

I’m damn tired of fighting against, and for, blind of understanding.

Be it black or white wont someone please, snatch me from this hiding.

What do I have to show for these calluses I bear?

The scars in my mind,

The ceaseless wear and tear?

Merely the years I fought to be wanted, and those I fought to be alone.

These knobs about my palms warn others, of how old and hard I’ve grown.