Protecting Me From My Own Hands, a poem by Drem

Protecting Me From My Own Hands, a poem by Drem

Written June 9, 2016

“Brick by brick,

brick after brick,

I build my walls high.

Brown and red

and sealed with cement

to protect me.

Each side smooth and dried

in an Indian summer sun.

To protect me.

Not from the men.

Not from the unfair ocean.

Not from the money,

or the insurance claims.

Nor the fuckboys.

The government.

Death and taxes…

I need to protect me from me.

I like the taste of ink too much.

And the taste of memories lost.

But to get that requires “at-risk” behavior

that no pill they give me can stop.

And if this reminds you of your high school emo days,

we’re in the same club.

I don’t think we ever grew up, did we?

At least, not in the sense of moving on.

Things stayed the same,

or if anything

just got a lot worse.

The outside is too scary.

And our insides hurt too much.

These opiates take a toll on the tummy.

I’ve been throwing up blood.

Progress is coming now.

So, there is something to be hopeful for.

I can feel it on my fingertips

and roll it on my tongue.

My eyes are scarred over

but I can make out a little bit of light.

It’s coming from the rooftop,

the corner I left open on the left side.

Only light can enter.

Light and air can enter here.

No self-afflicting wounds.

No bad thoughts or dreams or nightmares.

My castle has been built


and I’m finally safe from everywhere.

Now safe from my own hands.”

(C) Drem 2016

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