To make it on the stage, in this day and age,
I'm convinced, Contacts and Clout are what it's all about.
Woke up this mornin', feelin' all washed out,
went down to the local drugstore, for a bottle of Clout,
the druggist he said, 'Sorry son, we're all sold out.'
Woke up this mornin', feelin' all turned about,
went to my family Doctor, gotta have a bottle of Clout,
he said, 'Ya gotta go cold turkey, you'll have to go without.'
There's no doubt about it, I need a bottle of Clout,
gonna shout about it, 'What d'ya think I need?
'Well, yes indeed, I need me a bottle of Clout.'
Woke up this mornin', feelin' such self-doubt,
went to the nearby Grocer, said, 'Gimme a bottle of Clout.'
She said, 'I'd like to help ya boy, but now, ya just struck out.'
Woke up this mornin', feelin' all burned out,
went to the downtown Dealer, to score a bottle of Clout,
he said, 'You're outta luck man, there's none of it about.'
Yeah, it's an affliction, wish I could lose,
it's my addiction, I got them mean ol' bottle of Clout blues.
(yes, I'm serious)
Three minutes.
That’s how long it took
to name a swarming mess:
A self-appointed poet
with rogue chemicals sizzling in her nerves.
The diagnosis long and fancy—
bitter but addictive
on my tongue,
like the gin I’ve grown fluent in.
(Is that why his voice was slurred?)
“…The patient flinches
at the morning rains in May.
Her ink contradicts herself…
…and her thoughts betray.”
“…Well, this is why.” He pointed at my brain.
I sighed and rest
my head against the chilly wall
painted a welcoming shade of yellow.
The nurse lit branded candles:
they reserve lavender
for calming the stormier souls—
but I blow out the flame
with laughters drumming in my rib cage—
All this time,
I’ve been stuck
in debates on who’s to blame
But finally—finally,
Printed on stapled prescription bags—
a long, fancy name.
Now we can toast
with tablets in paper cups—
Here’s to
finding an enemy that's not me.
This is a poem I wrote on my Instagram account daisymeadows2023
Poetry prompt for Coralynn. poetry
PRESCRIBED POETRY
Prescription - 1 poem a day,
1 pen and paper,
Add words that you wish to say.
Writers block can get you in a stew,
But it won't last forever,
Maybe a day or two.
Prompts by Coralynn can be such good fun,
Some wonderful poems have been written,
There's a topic for each and everyone.
As Mary Poppins chose to say,
Just a spoonful of sugar,
Helps the medicine go down,
For poets and non-poets
Just write the words down.
Let your poetry begin.
PRESCRIPTION :
1 piece of paper,
Pick up a pen,
Let your thoughts and words flow,
Write again and again and again!
Enjoy!!
I grit my teeth and white my knuckles
as my newfound mentor chuckles.
He teaches me about disdain,
but no matter, I planned for pain.
My eyes both flutter as I shudder,
then I hear him coarsely utter:
"Good, looks like you still feel somethin'.
***** I swear, you ain't worth nothin'."
Lashes wet my back with crimson
in this self-prescribed sex prison.
I don't mind the body abuse,
but worry when he grabs the noose...
He likes to leave it on so long,
Last time, I thought I was gone.
But this time I see in his eyes
Something that brings fear to mine:
This is self pity and anger,
my hairs raise as I sense danger.
I test my cold metal chains
but can't break from my restraints.
He slips the noose around my neck,
then gives my cheek one final peck.
Fire rips through my perception,
Monsters I don't dare to mention..
Everything I love is ash,
all my glass memories crash.
Burning flesh, a pungent smell,
flares my nostrils in this hell.
I hear screaming, perhaps mine?
Then I'm returned to my time:
Surrounded by smoke and flame,
mumbling my dealer's name.
In this inferno, I bubble,
as his crackhouse burns to rubble.