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Poetry

Working in Addiction
I can’t be that bad, I still have a job,
I answer the phone and don’t look like a slob.
I shower each day and I’m often on time,
And besides, no one knows, so I guess that I’m fine.
But inside my head, my thoughts swirl like fire.
If only they knew what it was I desire?
With a fake smile on, I appear to fit in,
But I don’t feel at home within my own skin.
It takes all I’ve got just to get through the day,
I’m running on fumes despite what I convey.
I’m a slave to the bottle and I’m dying inside.
‘Don’t you dare tell a soul!’ says my ego and pride.
How did this happen? I once had it all!
I laughed, I had friends, back then life was a ball.
But all the bad stuff that I ever went through
Was pushed so far down and kept secret from you.
I wouldn’t let myself cry or feel any trauma,
I just auto-piloted through being a wife and a Momma.
But soon even that wasn’t enough to conceal
The flashbacks and pain that were becoming too real.
But alas alcohol could keep me on track,
(It was nice to know something at least had my back!)
Used to drink just on weekends while hanging with friends,
But in no time the means did not lead to the ends.
I drank more and more, both in frequency and amount
Soon my number of friends, on one hand I could count.
And my job is now hanging on by a tiny thread,
My weekends are spent hung over in bed.
Everything’s spiraling out of control,
And keeping my job was my only goal,
But I sit at my desk and I stare at the screen
Then nip to the washroom, afraid to be seen
I take a quick sip for a moment’s relief
But even that moment gets more and more brief.
I still have a job, so I’m under control
Now please go away while I try and act whole
May 2, 2024

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Working in Addiction I can’t be that bad,

Poetry

Relations in the First Year of Sobriety

I’m told no big changes in my first sober year…
Just meetings and service, no drugs and no beer.
But the elders who say this just don’t understand,
Being single this year is not what I had planned.
A woman has needs and I’m going insane!
No drinking or drugs, now I must also abstain?
Come on, it’s only an hour or two that I seek
To let off some steam, why not just once a week?
If my problem is booze and I’m not even attached,
Why can’t I seek out to get this itch scratched?
At meetings I size up each guy one by one,
And wonder which one might be up for some fun.
I’m lonely, I’m bored, what harm can it do?
I’m now eight months sober and so long past due!
Come on my dear Sponsor and let me go play.
What’s wrong with an occasional romp in the hay?
No feelings, no connection, just raw carnal play
No one needs to know, we’re adults, its ok!
Let’s play out the tape? You say, knowingly
You want me to learn what it is that you see
Things might get awkward, so I’ll avoid where he goes
But rumours and whispers and soon everyone knows
I’ll start missing the meetings where I used to feel fine
And my mental and spiritual health will decline
Is an hour of fun worth this great life that I’ve found?
Nope, for now I think I’ll keep both my feet on the ground
Jan 18, 2024

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Relations in the First Year of Sobriety I’m

Poetry

Beyond the High

One says that clear head leads to good life led
but a habit of getting right sabotages a clean mind,

process of detoxing a poisoned body
struggling to tolerate withdrawal and stay alive.

the sweats, shakes and stomach aches,
what is real and what is fantasy so blended.

Dancing with death, controlled by deep pain,
living in illusions until the brain is mended.

the high…

and when did living life stop being enough?
intoxication just road blocks and hand cuffs.

So embrace the possibilities of thinking,, laughing, dreaming,
sweet sunshine, warm embrace, living life with real meaning.

to be alive, to be present, to exist with mind clear
acting from the heart, love realized, inner spirit finally set free.

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Beyond the High One says that clear head

Personal Journeys, Poetry

The bitter taste of serenity
The pleasure of my guilt
The loneliness of peace
The paradise I have built

The weeks feel like days
The years feel like months
Occasions turn irrelevant
Relationships turn blunt

I watch my whole world Crumble
My conscience is not phased
I definitely don’t need therapy
Don’t tell me that I’m crazed

Next week will be different
The lies I tell myself
Addiction is a mind set
I fucking hate myself

The mind a temple
But temples they can fall
It’s time to kick the habit
Or the habit will take it all

The path that I am walking
I feel I am alone
I have no one to talk to
I have no place at home

I scream out loud for help
But only I can hear
If you could see inside my mind
You’d likely shed a tear

And as the days go on
It seems to last much longer
Reality is a fantasy
It’s grip is getting stronger

So as these words conclude
Be weary where you tread
Your love could be the difference
Of Wether I’m alive or dead

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The bitter taste of serenity The pleasure of

Poetry

Rock Bottom

What is rock bottom?
You are lucky if you have to ask.

Stuck in a pit, standing on wet, jagged stones
painfully piercing the soles of spent Chuck Taylors,
.
Yet feeling something is preferrable to feeling invisible
like when one’s whole life is disappearing
as death dances with life in the form of addiction.

Ride the dragon, stuck on getting right,
one’s life tumbles, crumbles all around
smokey rooms and nodding out,
and getting right morphs to fright when coming down.

Chase the dragon but fail to catch up,
withdrawal comes knocking,
jonesing for one last fix, but more always follow,
hard to stay the course when recovery cam move slow.

Release the dragon, strive to heal,.
fake faith helps guide the non-spiritual,
who boldly repeat foxhole prayers,
looking for miracles on which they believe so little.

Ride out the pain, let go of shame
unloosen the chain of addiction untamed
getting clean almost attained,
when sobriety arrives and guides the way,
levitating above rock bottom haze,
detoxed, rehabbed, and once more safe.

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Rock Bottom What is rock bottom? You are lucky

Personal Journeys, Poetry

Guess it’s been a dark ride here, Cause I’m not sure where I’ve been. I got lost in all the chaos When the bottle sucked me in. From there it was just a dream, An illusion of what was not, And when I was lost the most Is when the bottle hit its spot. Lookin’ out from the inside, I watch as the world goes by. It seems so all together, But I’m not and I wonder why. What’s the difference between us That some seem to find the way Past a bottle of empty promises And hope of a better day. Lord; help me get out of here, It’s a dark place and I’m alone. The only thing that’s real at all Are memories of love and home. This is nowhere I wanna be, But I’m here all the time, Thinkin’ back to those sweet days When feelin’ good meant feelin’ fine.

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Guess it’s been a dark ride here,

Personal Journeys, Poetry

Dear Alcohol,
Its time to say goodbye you duplicitous thief. We’ve had some great times man, no doubt about it. You just couldn’t stand to be in the background could you? Always fighting for the spotlight. Mr. Centerstage couldn’t just be a fun addition to the party, you had to make sure it was all eyes on you. Always showing off how strong you are, taking control of every situation, manipulating every emotion to lead right back to you. The Narcissist in a bottle, the Sociopath in a can, the Courageous Facade in a glass, consistent if nothing else. The time has come to part ways. You have overstayed your welcome and have begun to cause discord in my life. “When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man I put the ways of a child behind me” (1 Corinthians 13:11). As the man of my house I have no room or time for your immaturity, your ever daunting recklessness, or your hidden agendas. The harm you have done to me and mine is insurmountable, the things you have done to me are detestable, but you know what? I forgive you. They say holding a grudge is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. I hold no grudge against you and you were my poison, so I guess you could call that two birds with one stone Big Dog. I’d like to say I’m gonna miss you but that’s the beauty of an ugly break up isn’t it? You never want to see the other person again. So this is it, bye-dios bro. You almost took me with you too but you forgot one thing… I GOT THAT DOG IN ME.

Later Hater.

J.R.I.

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Dear Alcohol, Its time to say goodbye you

Poetry

Life Equation

San Francisco plus
twenty-something
plus romance breakup
equals cocktails.
Margaritas, gin.
New romances
schmucks plus
teaching high school
plus early thirties
bar hopping
independence equals
half a bottle of wine
most nights
sometimes
maybe more.

Subtract San Francisco
add Tucson
age 38 now
minus Tucson
add Davis
now age 40
plus four years
of grad school
add Masters
add PhD
add student loans
add two years
on the job market
tally subtotal
equals
daily drinking.

Subtract California
altogether.
Minus beloved home
plus North Carolina
nosy neighbors
Southern culture
“bless your heart”
fakery and “where’s
your church homes?”
Add years
subtract dear friends
family west coast
connections
add years gallons
and gallons of wine
floating up at times
on rising tides
other times keeping
something deeply
submerged.

Subtotal tally 62.
Add two weeks
in January 2023
another new year
then begin subtracting
liquor. Add days
since last wine
six
add nights
without drink
same six
lay down
pray
then add tomorrow
and tomorrow
and with any luck
tomorrow.

Tally sum
of this equation:
Life minus
liquor equals
a deep night’s
sleep tonight
plus tomorrow
the potential
for peace.

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Life Equation San Francisco plus twenty-something plus romance breakup equals cocktails. Margaritas,

Poetry

Alone

I feel so alone because I am different. There are others like me who are too scared to come out from the dark, afraid they will never be loved or accepted for who they really are. Rippled memories ingrained of being beaten, left heavily injured by other breeds.

I fell into the darkness when my twin flame lay upon the snowy mount, we only had time to whisper
“I love you”.
The loss of my sweet soul raged within me, a sound of thunder, an internal anger that I would never tame alone, or wanted to.
I carried the pain of my angel’s memory and I vowed never to surrender like the others. I fought everyone and everything, including myself.

I wandered alone, a silent wolf, searching for my pack to welcome me home.
I dared to dream, drifting aimlessly through the chill of night, that someday we would sit around the fire and share the call of unity together.
Sensing my lone wandering brothers and sisters near, crippled and twisted induced with an eerie feeling that death is near.

Within the circle, I find the others, feeling the coldness of steel surrounding us. Now caged, we fight between ourselves, the wild instinct raveging our very souls.
The reaper resides within us every day, we feel him from the moment we wake until we lay down. A mist of shadowy distorted figures surrounds, that splinter our vision and taint our sanity. We have become resistant to love.

As I rest with the others that are alone and afraid we now comfort each other. Longing for the ones never to return, aliken to a sense of thunder before the storm.
We look to a power greater than ourselves; we howl to the moonlight in the forest together. Warm and safe just for today, huddled around the fire.
I am home Iam safe and no longer alone.

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Alone I feel so alone because I am

Poetry

at 3:46am near light rail station on main & dobson

none of us has much of a past anymore
for that matter not much of a future
the streets are not something that you are ever on the streets are on you
they mark your dirty skinny
needing a shower
just always a little something missing
in the way you are dressed
the way your eyes move around the room
and of course there is always something missing from your story
why you have a college education
and don’t have a job why you don’t have a credit card or a number to be called back at
why are you a ghost
you don’t have an answer for why you are checking in to this hotel at 3am
and your ID says you are from the same city
you don’t have an answer for why you aren’t tired
for why you aren’t hungry in the morning
for the why you are so pretty and still single
why don’t you have any children
why are you a ghost
the streets are alive at least
they are always pushing you herding you
they keep you moving all the time
no place to rest
where someone isn’t staring at you
maybe to call the cops maybe to steal from you
maybe because you aren’t supposed to be here
the streets are the only home you will ever have where you will never ever belong.

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at 3:46am near light rail station on

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