HAIR OF THE DOG

I grew up on Nazareth

Hair of the dog, Love Hurts.

Nothing inside of me

knew any better;

all the years of that pain

just became worse.

And the babies came

and they grew up the same

and their dreams were

taken by a hearse.

The day I found the mirror

I met the one who fell for

tall dark and handsome danger

cloaked in dazzling smile

not worth going to hell for.

Redemption meant giving up

my addiction to pain, which

if someone said out loud then

I’d have said they were insane.

“I don’t love the pain."

But yes, somehow I did.

Love doesn’t hurt; it heals,

it is patient and faithful and true

and does not leave you crying

gut-wrecking cries; from the pain

and the lies you scream:

“Look what you do...”

This is not love.

Love holds your hand and

love lifts you up and softly

rocks you to sleep.

Love cries with you,

but does not make you cry.

Love laughs with you,

not at you.

Those years of Nazareth,

Hair of the dog, they took

their toll upon me. The

dysfunction of it all, still stains

the walls of my distant memory.

I bless the mirror that hangs in

my hall, a constant reminder of

the path out... says the mirror:

"it’s never been them, it’s you.

And you deserve love.

Not the hair of the dog

whose poison will just make you

sicker."