Chemical Dependency*

 

If, like the girl in the poem,

my soul is in the shape of a square,

as I suspect it is because I can

sometimes feel it riding inside me,

pressing against the cities of my interior

like a caged animal, ranging and wary,

attempting to bisect me on the lateral plane

like an illustration in an anatomy book,

incessantly questioning and

demanding answers I cannot supply.

If the square is what sings at the

thrill of chaos and the bubbling

endorphins that come with strife,

can I blame my bad decisions on it

so that I don’t have to accept responsibility

for a life of stagnation, credit card

debt, and loving unwisely?

If the square that is my soul

is addicted to trouble and heartache,

is it my fault that I have to sit on my hands

to keep from holding yours?

 

 

[*Note: “the girl in the poem” refers to the poem “She Considers the Dimensions of Her Soul” by Young Smith. It is collected in the book Strange Attractors: Poems of Love and Mathematics.