NORTH LET GO

I’m fine. The fall hurt. Standing hurts less.

“Walk in a straight line,” said the cop, all stern –

So I lay down. Flat. Like, horizontal grace.

“Technically straight,” I thought. You live, you learn.

Sobriety’s a game I lose…with face.

I quit the vodka, now coffee takes the stage –

With milk, fake syrup, judgment on the side.

It scolds me gently while I disengage

From all the reckless ways I used to hide.

No more pretending chaos was a plan,

No glamor in the bruises or the blame.

I sit with pain now – let it take my hand,

And name it. Healing’s slower but less lame.

I stand-ish tall. I caffeinate. I try.

But if I can’t, I’ll lie down. At least I’m dry.