My Story by Chrissie Robb

Tales abound
But mine
Has never been told
Should I tell it
Now that I’m old
Equal parts of shame and glory
But isn’t that
Everybody’s story?

How do I know what jot it’s worth?
Does it have breadth
A sizeable girth?
How does it measure
Against all others
Will it be buried as just another’s

Do all stories amount to the same
Is it just God’s gigantic game
To let us assume
We define ourself
When we’re merely a package
Pulled from the shelf

In heaven’s pantry.
Already processed and packaged
For public use.

A model X
Tried and true
Going through
What a million others
Have gone through

Is that why we recognize
Lives on the screen.
As somewhere we’re going
And somewhere we’ve been?

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Practically Superman by Sophie

Sitting in the office, tapping your feet
The old familiar one-two beat
Will he or won’t he provide what you seek?

Pills or powders, you don’t give a damn
All shoved down your gullet as fast as you can
The fading of tiredness, irritation, the shakes
Reassures you that friends all made a mistake

When they tell you to check in
To that place on the coast
“No, seriously man, you look like a ghost!”

Though your excuse of feeble health rings hollow
It’s a bitter pill they still choose to swallow.
Heh. Bitter pill, you think to yourself
As your eyes wander down the pharmacy shelf

“To my health!” you exclaim as you grab a few bottles
But the celebratory mood soon turns hostile
You run out the door, make a quick escape
You’re practically Superman, minus the cape

Lost in the high, not a care in the world
Mind gone blank and troubles unheard
That sweet oblivion, rush of blood to the head
Some people choose love. You chose dope instead.