I Remember, But Do You?

Location

I remember when getting high,

Meant nothing more than who could sore the highest off the jungle gym.

I remember when wrapping paper was the stuff you tore off of Christmas presents,

Not the stuff you tripped off just to feel pleasant.

I remember when a bong,

Was a hollow song that your Bouncy Ball sang,

As it would clang between the pots and pans hanging by your kitchen ceiling fan.

Bong... Bong... Bong...

I remember when a bowl,

Was a glass hole that would encompass your goldfishes souls.

I remember when a joint,

Was a 1950s cultural point.

A place where your grandparents would go,

To "get low... get low get low get low."

To the jukebox heart beat,

And not through the smoke and heat.

I remember when Mary Jane was a little black shoe with a tiny strap,

Not what gangsters smoked in their rap. 

I remember when Puff was my magic dragon, 

Only something I could imagine.

I remember when a hit was what your parents gave you, 

Not what all my friends have become slave to.

I remember when green grass,

Was what would catch me when I fell on my ass,

After getting as high as the sky,

Jumping off that jungle gym. 

I remember when blunt,

Was telling someone straight up,

Not what you smoked till you were "effed up." 

I remember when weeds were the unwanted seeds in your Garden of Innoncence, 

How they began to take over the part of your brain that still made any sense.

I remember when you didn't want any weeds in your garden,

But then you let your guard down,

And you let them all in.

I remember when your breath still smelt of flowers,

Not the weed you've been smoking for hours.

I remember when you promised me,

That we would always be smoke free. 

But now this ivy has become your HIV.

It's like a disease that will never ease off of your cognitive abilities,

And people try to tell me that weed isn't addicting,

When in reality the evidence is conflicting.

If you've ever met anyone who's smoked for longer than a few years,

You'll know that quitting means more than just choking on a few tears.

It's an everyday struggle,

But who is really culpable? 

Rap artists and pop idols?

Best Friends or Parents who sat idle?

But maybe, instead of pointing fingers at the rest of society,

Take a look a look in the mirror and ask yourself,

Is this really me?

 

 

Comments

JessJones07

That was awesome! I loved the emotion that you put into the words as you spoke. Beautiful poem, goodjob! :)))

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