mortified

There’s this reading series called “Mortified” where people read stuff they wrote as kids, embarrassing love letters, etc. I am packing and I’ve seen/read this before, but I wish this were 1. a joke and 2. not so prophetic.  You’ll clearly see that it has a shitload of overdramaticism, but by and large, well … you’ll see.

There was a girl who every night
Used to drink and fight.
She always came home black and blue
Here’s her story being told to you.

She was in school at the grade of eight
She always had to participate
Her friends and her peers weighed her down
She said, “I’m getting out of this town.”

So now she’s 14 years old
And she finds she has a cold
Her father says “Brandy will fix you up;
But don’t get stuck on this stuff.”

She coughed and she wheezed and she sneezed real hard
After that, she couldn’t even play cards.

But a month later, she’s in the refrigerator, feeling a little depressed.
But she thought about what her dad said and took out the best.

She had a little brandy — just a little sip
Cure anything from a cold to a fat lip.
She got a little tired and laid down,
But that brandy made her frown.

Well, by and by she drank more and more
One time she passed right out onto the floor.
She said, “I can handle it, yesiree
No one’s gonna make a fool out of me.”

She learned how to drink and keep it all in
She watched the family room spin.
She really liked the natural high
Until her boyfriend said, “Bye, bye.”

She said, “It’s okay,
He was a square anyway.
I’ll leave him behind
I’ve got more men in line.”

Yeah, she went to lots of parties and she was real cool
But she was known all over school
As one of the people who couldn’t take control
But she truly promised she’d never smoke a bowl.

All this went on for awhile
Until she thought beer was not her style.
Instead of turning on to drugs —
She drank hard liquor by the mugs.

Well, now she was addicted, no way around it.
She couldn’t even keep her cigarettes lit.
She cried and moaned when her parents found out,
And they banned her from it with a shout.

She cried and wretched and moaned in pain
She was beginning to be very lame.
She had withdrawal, screaming and crying —
There would be no more booze buying.

Now one time she was down on her knees
And her new boyfriend came over with a treat.
Wine all poured into some Kool-aid,
And it supposedly eased all of her pain.

Then she took her parents’ car for a drive
She was going much more than 55.
The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes
Was a tree coming toward her and a bunch of lies.

The lies she told herself — putting her down
It made her look like a real clown.
All she wanted was a little relief,
And now she was just gonna leave —

This earth, her parents and her family
All because of one oak tree.

She died that night all alone
No one even heard the cracking of the bones
They found her in a crumpled shape
A trickle of blood at her nape.

So don’t end up like this awful mistake
It’s not a risk you’d want to take
Don’t rush things, it’ll come soon enough
Drinking won’t make you tough.

WHAT THE FUCK. I didn’t drink until I was out of my parents’ house — almost 21. So, I have NO clue where I got this idea for this after-school special poem. I don’t know where I got the “smoke a bowl” phrase. I love how all of a sudden the chick in the poem is smoking cigarettes! I love how she ditched loser boyfriend who won’t drink because she’s got “more men in line.” Obviously, I was writing a character (which, by the way, my dad NEVER gave me brandy for anything), but … kind of odd choices, yeah?

So, now I can rip that out of the notebook it’s in (an old 1977 daily calendar made by/for Railton — whatever that is) and use the rest of the nearly 365 pages that are blank. I’m not sure how old I was when I wrote that. 12? 13? Who knows. Bizarro and now you can be haunted by the terrible poetry about a girl gone wrong.

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One thought on “mortified

  1. Now take this with a grain of salt since most would say I have no taste, but I like what I like even if it’s the velvet painting of dogs playing poker. With that caveat I love the poem, and I am really shocked it was done when you say it was. maybe it was for the equivalent of DARE back then.

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