Wagons of a Different Sort - written at 12 or 13

What is this
What does it mean
in this bliss
Have you come clean
I can't say
I know of what
Bring will this day
Your openings shut
"No illegal shit"
And I heard your lie
Enemies telling it
You used to cry
Stop or die

I've been thinking a lot about my brother, "John." He started using when he was 13, went to rehab by 16 and finally joined the army at 25 as a way of getting clean. I've thought a lot about how my dad's addiction affected me, but now I'm realizing how much John's addiction affected me as well. He got a letter last week from the army recalling him, and he has orders to report in a month and deploy to Iraq. It was totally unexpected. He is going to school, has a wife and son and another baby on the way, so this news was devastating to all of us.

He asked me to write a letter on his behalf stating that he is the only one in the family that can take care of my dad, so that he can get out of these orders. As I sat there writing this letter, which is basically a lie, because I've done more than anyone to care for my dad, I had a deja vu moment. I had a memory of being in high school and forging a doctor's note for him to take to court. I've been trying to help him get out of things his entire life - lying for him and enabling him. Although this situation is slightly different, it felt oddly familiar. I am okay with writing this particular letter because I disagree with the Army's policy of recalling soldiers who have completed their service, but I am not consumed with pity for my brother. He chose to join the Army in the middle of a war rather than go to rehab, and this is one of the unintended consequences. I'll write this letter and hope for the best for him and his family, but I don't have to let the burden of this drag me down. I have a choice in how I react and respond to crisis. Here's a poem I wrote on the subway last week after getting the news that John had orders for Iraq:

I guess I'm more in tune
when I'm alone
like the waves from my brain
are a product I can own
This world is senseless
It changes all the time
from misery to suffering
from pitiful to blind
I can't keep riding these waves
Hoping they crash on some shore
I can't crawl out of the pit
I dug myself in anymore

I'm tired I'm wasted
As I'm sure you can see
Tearstained eyes, a meek smile
are all that's left of me
I don't feel that I have
More blood left to spare
It's all been spilled
It's overfilled
the test tubes of despair
Like some vengeful leech
Just can't get enough of me
Like he's getting off
on my endless misery
So I'll just drag my carcass home
Lock the doors and cry
Crisis will come knocking
But I'll offer no reply