A Depressed Drunk Does Not a Poet Make

So, I was cleaning out my email inbox recently, and I came across a poem that I wrote and then emailed to myself awhile back. Now, I'm not much of a poet to begin with, but to make matters worse, I wrote this poem when I was depressed, and more than slightly drunk. I laughed out loud when I re-read it...it quite possibly may be the worst poem ever written.

If the Lifetime Network wanted to make a made-for-TV movie about a depressed, failing artist, and they enlisted a bunch of washed up, hack television writers to slap together a poem for the protagonist to drunkenly utter during the climax of the second act, THAT poem would be T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land" compared to my steaming pile of crap poem.

I figured that if I was going to spend so much time in this blog making fun of other people, I should, for purposes of remaining "fair and balanced," poke a little fun at myself.

So, without further adieu, I shamefully give you this:

SO REAL

I descend once again into my comfortable prison

Whiskey is my mattress, beer my pillow

The television flickers in the background

Cold pizza crust stamped into an unkept rug

Heavy eyelids the only weight left

Popsicle heart, pudding brains

Night after night

Nothing but reality

I wish I could tell you "just kidding guys, I wrote the poem this morning as a joke and thought it would be fun to pretend that I wrote it as a serious attempt at something meaningful." No such luck.

It is what it is ---- an absolutely true and honest attempt by a depressed, cubicle-confined, white collar drone to pretend to be the poet that I would have been had I not been so bad at poetry all my life.

People, in case you didn't know, humility is the new arrogance. Except when humility is all you have.