Hippy Blues

Even now, on the eve of what should be a joyous occasion, the lows are at a high.
Thats the thing about those Hippy Blues.
They can come whenever they wish.
After a high,
after your best most inspirational ephinany,
after a first kiss,
or after a shit.
You have no control. They are not glamorous.
You find yourself writing another 'victim' poem.
Another song your classmates can get lost in.
If only you could swim in your own words, without drowning.
Sometimes I blame my mum.
With her own high spectrum of Hippy Blues, she skipped the 27club
to see what was on the other side.
Only to be disappointed. Stretch Marks and Divorces.
A biological father who was absent all my youth and still remains.
And a Dad.
Who tries his hardest. Bloody Knees and School Plays.

I blame The Doors sometimes.
If only Jim's mysterious voice and delicious words wouldn't fill my body with that painful rhythm I some what crave.
And ofcourse I blame drugs and alcohol.
Who even now at the age of 18, I find myself slurring if they have not passed my lips
in a few long precious days.
I pick my poison well.
The only man who remains with me.
Jack.

I sometimes blame myself,
for that is after all the polite thing to do.
I blame the goverment, because as a teenager I am expected to rebel against the system.

I don't wear a watch.
Sometimes I say it's because I feel like a slave to the man.
Truth be told, I am no Easy Rider.
No American Beauty mid-life crisis lies here.
I break them if i wear them.