Sometimes, in the morning
When the sunshine cruelly invades our cocoon
And judges objectively
The night before
And your lips are sore
And your throat is dry
And you haven't got the energy
To say goodbye
Things can seem... a bit rubbish.
And when you stand up with a head rush and look in the mirror and see what might, once, have been a human, things can seem a bit rubbish.
And you could ask yourself... is this it? A week of drudgery, then this?
A load of fragmented memories?
Some existential dread?
Sweaty face, aching limbs
New spots on my forehead.
And at that point...it might seem like things are not just temporarily rubbish, but permanently and inescapably rubbish, philosophically rubbish, as if the universe has as it's defining characteristic: rubbishness.
But the thing is.
We are not defined
By the bad times.
You're not the spots on your forehead
You're not your weary eyes
You're not your greasy hair
You're not your roll of fat
You're not your cellulite
You're not your hairy feet with those weird, fuckin', partially side-ways little toes
You're not your boils, blisters, third nipple, lazy eye,
You are not your massive, fuck-off, nose.
You're not the time you got hideously drunk and chucked up everywhere
You're not the time you got humiliated being asked for ID on the door even though you tried putting on a deep voice and everything
You're not the time you split up from a 10-day relationship and sobbed like it was the death of love
You're not the times you spurned a good girl for a bad one 'cause the bad one was fitter
You're not the time you got so paranoid you thought everyone hated you
You're not the time you shouted at your mum and felt like a twat for doing it
You're not the time you nicked money off her for drugs
You're not the time you guiltlessly fucked your girlfriend's best mate
You're not all the times you relentlessly took the piss out of the vulnerable kid until he had tears in his eyes and it got awkward but you didn't know how to stop
You're not all the times you stayed quiet because you were for some reason afraid of people
You're not the time you swam around your room in a black pool of misanthropic bitterness, and thought - nothing is going to get better.
You're not those times.
You're more like the the time... you looked in the mirror and accepted yourself.
You're more like the time... that you looked after the one who got too fucked, got 'em home safe, and never batted an eyelid at the loss of your night.
You're the time you responded to a break-up with stoicism and goodwill.
You're the time you spurned the bad girl for the good one because the good one was better.
You're the time you felt paranoid and then stopped - laughed - said out loud this is fucking ridiculous.
You're the last time you hugged your mum and told her you love her.
You're the time you laid off the drugs for a bit or at least shared them.
You're the time when the muddle in your head cleared for a moment and you loved, just loved, the person in front of you.
You're the time you sat out on the cliff edge for hours and felt infinite.
You're the time when everything was mental and up in the air and you smiled to yourself and thought of Bill Hicks saying it's an insane world but I'm proud to be a part of it.
None of us are angels
We're diamonds in the rough
But the good is far deeper
And far more real
Than all... of the bad stuff.
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