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Personal Journeys, Poetry

Feelings
It’s November 18. I have just left detox facility for at least the fourth time. I’ve been to rehab six different times but right now I’m eating popcorn, watching television drinking a glass of wine. I don’t know why am drinking glass of wine I don’t want to be drinking this glass of wine. I don’t even like the way wine tastes , but here I am ,8 o’clock. Drinking a glass of wine

I’ve gotten paid money to play baseball. I have a masters of business degree and I have been a successful salesman, yet here we are, again. I’m not just the homeless guy is downtown making excuses. This is my excuse, and I don’t know how to deal with it.

Over the years, there’s been labels. Easy ways to identify, to sympathize , to try and understand. Those labels are not incorrect, but are unable to be understood unless truthfully worn.

I wish no one to have to wear that label.
For the label ruins things , ruins, life, it ruins people.

My family should’ve seen a grandson by now, running down those stairs. I don’t know if I’ll ever carry on the family name in.

I felt like I’ve grown up with a lot of responsibility even though I didn’t want it or know how to do it. But I feel like I’ve tried to get my family through things that not everyone should experience and I never move from Wheeling because if I did who would watch my grandmother, she means everything to me

I am writing this in tears, because in 39 years I could never properly identify my feelings or emotions. I don’t know how to live. I don’t know why there’s any questions to go through my head every night like…. what is wrong with me and what can I do? How do I stop this?? and on and on.

Yes I’m an alcoholic. But there’s something in there that’s more . There’s something more than just drinking/. if I knew what it was, I would tell you. there is intense distain for me myself in general Ive done nothing right my whole life. All I wanted to do was have a good time. All I wanted to do was party if that’s even what you call it it wasn’t really partying it was getting to a level that wasn’t me. I didn’t wanna be me I still don’t.

I’m 39 years old I have a dog. yeah I have a place but I have no job and I’m watching TV drinking wine and eating popcorn. What kind a live is that? one day I hope someone read this, and they can relate: sitting on the couch 39 years old, tears streaming down the face, not knowing why not caring why, just not wanting to be with their face

And closing, I just sit here, confused, and guilty to not have lived a life … too regretful to not have lived a life at all.

I don’t know how to express anything. I don’t know how to express thanks , I don’t know how to express gratitude, I have no idea how to say thank you to anyone. I find myself thinking about these things often.. why am I so
Flawed? but why do I have so many talents. I don’t really understand what’s going on in my head. No no that’s rarely not really. Maybe the most flowed can help the most vulnerable. Just let us help

—Justin edwards—- Popcorn

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Feelings It’s November 18. I have just left

Poetry

TekniColour

It happened that morning, as great gray held the sky,
We sat on the steps, and I made her start to cry.

Her jacket bright green, but Her mind laced with black,
As She drew life in circles, and She kept holding back.

Dull light in her eyes, Her God almost a stranger,
She was tip-toeing the tight rope and ignoring the danger.

I smoldered and told Her this Work needs Your action.
And She sighed and She tried but She couldn’t get traction.

I ravaged my resources, just how could I put this…
She was fragile but fighting with Her spiritual sickness.

So I prayed for His guidance, more compassionate care,
As the rain rattled down and the wind whipped Our hair.

I tough-loved and rough-talked, as the dark sky expanded,
And I pushed an ultimatum so heartfelt it landed.

If She knelt with some earnest, and allowed for some bend,
This could be a turning point, as opposed to an end.

As He gave us a storm so the earth matched the scene,
I told Her, this shoulder, was Hers onto lean.

But not to solve or resolve or to turn a blind eye,
If She wanted to live, it was more than not wanting to die.

She let go and let God, braved the truth and Her start,
Flipped Her spiritual switch, and She prayed with Her heart.

The world started to ignite, and We battled to explore,
As She felt her pain, found her lane, and gave substantially more.

Then We talked of the future, not what She’d survived.
And like Dorothy in Oz, some vibrance arrived.

The solution was honestly, not self-righteousness,
Immediately Her jacket, was not the only brightness.

At first We both balked, didn’t know Who to Thank,
Then recognized Our Gods, on that hard wooden plank.

I gained My new Strong One, We farewelled a Newcomer,
Her world dissolved its gray shade, and achieved Teknicoulor.

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TekniColour It happened that morning, as great gray

Personal Journeys

He has a big heart, He will get through.
I loved and prayed As I hung to my crew.
Alanon meetings
As blind as a bat, Stories we heard
A stench of a dead rat.
21 came, fireworks blasted
Handcuffed, DUI, as I pleaded for him to stop, He landed with yet another DUI drop.
The fear surged through my teeth, Hard to explain
The more I became withered in pain.
Flying him off to Florida, The experts advice
A sense of accomplishment, Money is no compromise.
Little did we know
He was drugged and hallucinating, He jumped off a bridge
In fear while escaping.
Our son is missing
Still rings in my ear
Begging the police with our worst fear.
In the parking garage,
Under a car,
He was rescued with a shattered leg, Sent to a hospital afar.

Another rehab began, Please help my son
Teach him not to use, Show him the 12 step plan.
Meanwhile, my parents overseas Knowing nothing of out trauma, Sailed to heaven with ease.
7 years flew by never expecting anything other, Addiction got his brother.
Couldn’t be
Where did we go astray? Have I sinned in my life? Do I have debt to pay?
Psychiatrists, therapists, here we go again, I honestly can’t recall the details today.
A jumble of fear, hope, incense to pray.
My boys are in rehab
My daughter is my soul
She got caught in the eye of a storm, That swallowed her whole.
Tell me to detach
I tell you ,I can’t
I’ll give them my life
In a moment without a rant.
Our hearts have been sickened, As we hold to each other tight, The future is a mystery
With the end a dim light.

I beg my lord
As I lay to sleep
Take me first
Before my boys leap.
Selfish? Maybe
Love too much? Yes
You can judge me as you wish, I grew scales like a fish.
Addiction is a disease that swallowed us whole
My wish is to strangle it
Leave life in peace,
faith,
With my children around my shoulders, Like a prayer Shawl.
2 years have gone by
I knitted my shawl, Fooling my brain
To think of nothing at all.
I heard of a meeting where parents of addicts attend, I’m not like them, they won’t understand, I can no longer pretend.
I gave it a try
And as some members remember, I cried my heart out
Not wanting to be a member.
I can do this alone
I don’t need a hand
No more shame to share
I come from a different land.

More rehabs for my boys
My brain is unclear and can’t remember Who? What? When? Where?
No hope for surrender.
Tuesday’s came and went As I ached for another, Who do I worry about?
My first born, or his brother
Little did I know
I was being equipped with strength and knowledge, That my addicts feared
As I learned to let go
And watch them grow.
I am a mother of addicts
I have yet to understand
Why god gave me these issues
Does he not know I hear his command?
With the 12 step plan
Life becomes more divine

The nectar of life become sweeter than ripened grapes on a vine.
So my friends
Life is hard whether you’re a parent of an addict or not Take it as a blessing
Find peace, love, purpose
That your life struggles are suppressing.
My boys are fighting
For their life and future
As I go to my Tuesday meetings
Listen, learn, and knit another prayer shawl For a family needing.

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He has a big heart, He will

Personal Journeys, Poetry

An alternative to guns.

A shiny marble stole my heart as it landed into a shrapnel crater
The joy it brought me as I huddled over its target was greater.
Just another day escaping our daily ritual
Hoping our name escapes the obitual.

An alarm went off as we scurried our muddy bodies home
A scolding we expected my mother to erase
As she hurried to warm the gas tank
washing away the trace
Of a shattered land.

Our home is unstable but with all due respect
We bowed to our homeland
That shed tears of survival
In the prospect of Jesus
Crossing to Cana with his arrival.

As shadows covered the valleys
Weary of what’s to come
Fed with pita bread Sandwiched with full bellies
we drifted to sleep feeling numb

Childhood?
My brain recalls it With images of popcorn
Keeping our mouths busy
For little bodies that shrapnels haven’t torn.

Those memories live through me
As an American I became
To pass down to my children
A new home I proclaimed.

That river that flowed in a bloody land
Connected with a flowery creek
that my children had at hand
Knowing little of that world
Where children are fed pita
Savory, not bland

Peace is granted in more ways than one
As danger crept upon us
In trophies to all or some
Privileged are our children
Escaping the physical shrapnels
Indifferent to none

It is the land of plenty
Opportunity, self confidence
Slow to acknowledge
It’s poisonous substance
Lurking our sons
Into a peaceful opulence
With a gloomy blanket for pain
An alternative to guns.

Rivers flow with good and evil
To the land of forgiveness
Or the medieval upheaval.

Those shiny marbles are our children
Sent forth through life
Juggling between villain and villain.

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An alternative to guns. A shiny marble stole