Trap Door

April 15

TRAP DOOR

The trap door of my mind opens occasionally and I find myself acting out things better left to conversation.  When I leave too many things unsaid, the pressure builds and the door opens.  My thoughts connect with my body minus the benefit of my brain, not to mention the brain of my sponsor.  I can ill afford the consequences of these open door exhibitions and I am obligated to spend much time scrambling up the hills my outlandishness slid down.  Thinking, speaking and contemplating, the prerequisites of action, must be done frequently or my mind’s sink, piled with my dirty dishes, will flood the counter top, then leave dishes crashing to the floor.  Even if I can’t keep everything caught up, at least I can leave things soaking.  I can start notes or little chats so I am not weighting the latch.  I can prevent the coupling of impulse and exploit. All I have to do is stick out my tongue.

Release your emotions from captivity.

*

Like an Elf Working in an Empty Tree

The chairs in the loft are empty,

but I still hear the choir sing.

The bottle though it’s empty,

still sometimes calls my name.

Though front pocket is empty

and there is rolled up empty sleeve,

still the nicotine haunts my dreams.

On this empty road I travel,

I still long for company.

The stillness is not all that’s empty,

but I run to fill that spot.

Chaos is like a tapeworm

it eats me from the inside,

but in the meantime I still believe it’s filling me.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

For Want of Frith

June 25

For Want of Frith

I feel like I am standing on a trap door, every flex in my footing triggers insecurity.  With my arms spread wide, I think the wiser move might be to hold them to my sides.  For if the little square did give way my arms might be sheered off with no time served for the tears I’ve cried or the blood now shed sprinkled on the earth.  Step from this, I tell myself, do not make delay, for all the ground is not a trap nor all the world a stage.  But is it not the trade in pain that sticks me to this spot and keeps me here for all my life just waiting for the drop. 

Sweep a path to your goals

*

UTILITY OF EMOTION

I plug into the utility of my emotions

These utilities aid my life as all utilities do.

The duel prong of anger serves to light me up

And gives me strength to set boundaries.

The four line clip cord of pain allows me to keep in touch

With my Higher Power, my friends and my fellows.

I have nothing to share if I can’t stay real about my pain

.

Fear is hard to contain and is carefully piped

Explosions of fear can start so easily,

It’s a good thing its foul odor can be smelled in the air.

The co-axial cable of joy screws neatly into the back of my mind

And gives me delight,

Color and sound are the privileges of sobriety.

Emotions are plainly utilitarian

But they help me survive

And make living into a life.

Too Far, Too Fast

June 23

TOO FAR, TOO FAST

Balloons filled with hydrogen race the atmosphere and fly away.  The effect is stunning, so much lift for just pennies.  The easy way has no line, no waiting; fast dirty service is available.  Risk assessment is counter-balanced with dramatic outcome, low initial cost and instant gratification.  How can I not want to rise above the crowd?  How can I not want it now?  Hydrogen is quick and plentiful, volatile yes, but why should this bother me?  I have a Higher Power to protect me.  It’s not as if I were playing with fire.  I am only tempting it.

Tell the tale of your life from the perspective of your thumb

*

For Want of Frith

I feel like I am standing on a trap door,

every flex in my footing triggers insecurity.

With my arms spread wide,

I think the wiser move might be

to hold them to my sides.

For if the little square did give way

my arms might be sheered off

with no time served for the tears I’ve cried

or the blood now shed sprinkled on the earth.

Step from this I tell myself

and do not make delay

for all the ground is not a trap

nor all the world a stage.

But is it not the trade in pain

that sticks me to this spot

and keeps me here for all my life

just waiting for the drop.