But you held fast because it was the right thing to do.

Right?

Because the scent of sweet Mary Jane would linger on those pressed Polos

And possibly stain.

Pressed Polos even back in 9th grade

When just a tacky tye-dye shirt would have done.

Because plastic red is not your preference, it never was

You always preferred holy wine, from gold chalices

Because curiosity obviously never killed this cat

So you’re here and still scared.

Scared to know that maybe even students at prep schools don't use halos and wings to fly

but instead soar on hallucinatory, pensive clouds with grey

goosebumps up each vertebra at just the thought

that to relieve the stress of turning AP chemistry paper pages at midnight

scholars of this generation y credulously roll chemistry into paper

Just like you baby boomers did

and the lucky few, decades before you

and probably even those hardtimers

But you always said

No

Right?

And so they should

Just Say No.

“It’s simple, It’s easy, You need to take control of yourself”

But see,

Mr. Mrs.

It’s humiliating

No, exasperating

To tell failure stories of just saying ….‘yea, sure”

To you, who won’t even consider

That the most promising students would break promises

So easily.

Those tin can chains that we used to whisper our impermissible secrets through

Were exchanged for shamelessly tainted red solo cups long ago

So your admonishing shouts of

“Just Say No! Just Say No! Just Say No!”

Are too brazen for our malleable eardrums

And maybe you will not accept that,

The future steps on the same glass shards that your past did

But

Mr. Mrs.

Please direct us,

Once you’ve inspected the glass that has broken,

That needs to be pieced back

Once you’ve found that the cause was not poor design.

Just as much as you

I want to snap my friends back into reality,

Not because I’m superior or lofty in a straight edge throne,

But because it’s sad to see them

Vomiting up honours classes and scholarships

with last night’s meatloaf and their parents unyielding trust

Inhaling thick smoke clouds and exhaling the last clarity of sunny days

Swallowing down bitter dregs of Canned Heat in hopes to ignite emotions they don’t feel

It’s sad for me too.

But all you can do is listen

To “First Time” stories,

To “all the time” stories,

To “I quit” stories,

To ‘I’ve started again” stories

To “It’s really not addictive” stories

All you can do is ask questions and

Watch faces turn befuddled

Like children threw pebbles into puddles,

Surfacing insecurities