why we turn to drugs and alcohol
it starts
when you’re too small to reach the light switch—
the yelling,
the slaps that come out of nowhere,
the way you learn early
that silence is safer than truth.
they tell you
“be strong,”
“be good,”
“sit still,”
while their own hands tremble from last night’s bourbon.
you grow up watching hypocrisy
wear a necktie.
school’s no better—
they call it “discipline,”
but it’s just another kind of cage.
they make you memorize names of kings
while your own father forgets yours.
they grade you on obedience
and call it learning.
by the time you’re grown,
you’ve learned that nobody listens
unless you’re perfect—
and perfection’s a currency
you never had.
so you find a drink,
a pill,
a something
that doesn’t grade you,
doesn’t shout,
just hums quietly in your bloodstream
and says,
“you’re alright for now.”
we don’t turn to the bottle
or the needle
because we love destruction—
we turn to them
because they’re the only things
that don’t lie.
they let you rest,
for a few hours,
in a world
that stopped being gentle
a long damn time ago.
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