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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

Remember me?
We met at a party.
When I was much younger:
You were my best friends.
Always there to lift my up.
Always there to make me laugh.
Always there to help me not care, Nor to cry.
I was always the life of the party.
You numbed me from reality.
From the hurt, and pain inside.
You made me forget the bad, and only think of you.
You and the good you came with.
Or so I thought.
Because at the end.
You took more than everything away.you took… me

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Remember me? We met at a party. When I

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

Poetry, Spiritual Recovery

Author: Danielle B.

See, these days I occupy my minutes

with, the uniquely rich cancer sticks,

to make THAT part of me die –

over and over like a blister in the sun.

Burn.

You see, I am stuck

B E T W E E N

the lines that haunt me,

the way that anger and pride kindle the hurt

the ebb and flow of wasting time,

of rising anxiety – which is automatically lingering these days.

People once told me that, that, it’s good, “it’s good to be seen”.

Behind these walls — this is why I hate to cry –

because, it DOESN’T MAKE YOU STRONGER

because, I’ve been told to let go, to compromise.

I’ve learned how to calm the ego, down

to taste freedom, but ATTACK – the silence surrounds me.

I just might, push the breakdown

In terms, like lines, and boundaries –

How can I describe … the darkness, the isolation, and the self-loathing?

Like a breathless papercut,

Let me lick these wounds into ashes, but …

Wounds into conversations, and inflections –

Healing has this way where moving forwards becomes a place,

where dialogue shapeshifts into the kind of happiness that still chooses to wear a mask.

Hope moves like legs and fingers that try to find others like themselves …

Intertwining like subversion, like hollowed voices beckoning darkness.

And Time, it wraps around old thoughts slowly,

the way a cigarette burns down

down

down

filter.

The pain and trauma

from the past,

from today

from tomorrow —

like smoke signals, cylinders of stories

which construct, and influx, the way my mind clauses –

complicated little niches – :: INHALE ::

Deep, just so I can collapse these mother fucking lungs of feeling.

Because my mind is a crowded space

These questions, like fears, little disarmed monsters –

This is why I choose to light up these contexts, to keep old demons down

with sand and grit, smoke like a chain between the filter and me,

down

down

down

I make room for the healing. But, don’t worry about me.

This is why I choose

to let these cinders burn.

— Sometimes, I miss the girl who used to stand

in the dark corners

of bars

of alleys

who was waiting to die

every night.

Sometimes, I miss the

black and blues

the cuts and scars.

The storefronts

The light poles

The burning smell of rubber

and red and white and blue lights.

I can still feel the cold concrete

floor of Central Bookings beneath my fingertips.

She at least, knew herself.

I, still haven’t found

what I’m looking for.

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Author: Danielle B. See, these days I occupy

Poetry

Author: Kristen C.

When her father was drunk, he’d say ‘I used to have a brother, you know’,
He got faraway look in his eyes, a memory forming in the clouds,
His hands would open and close, tightening as his breath grew swallow,
Cruel thoughts manifesting at the bottom of his scotch,
But he’d smile again a minute later and the memory was gone,
Along with the uncle she wish she never knew she had.
When her mother was drunk, she would stumble and fall,
Tripping over more than her words, but,
Her smile was never as bright as when she was half way through the bottle of wine,
And her eyes held a shine that would never see the light of day,
But morning would always come, and with it the shameful dissonance.
Her mother always hides the bruises and broken glasses well.
She had never known the effects of the drink until later in her life,
For she had seen what could happen when a pain that deep ran in the family,
But she has come to understand the appeal of a drunken stupor,
Reality always made much more sense when her world was spinning.
When she drinks, she drinks to remember, to forget
It depends on the night in question,
Sometimes it’s to remember her mothers smile, or forget the haunted look in her eyes in the morning rays,
Or she drinks to forget the secrets she wished her father never spilled,
Drinks to forget the reality she helped create.
She knows the harmful effects of addiction to the bottle,
But she knows she cannot function without it; family traits and all,
Yet there is power every time she spills the bottle down the sink,
But she clings to the drops as though they hold a dying prayer,
She hates living on a silent scream, but she still she prays
Asking those above to save her from the same path as those before her.

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Author: Kristen C. When her father was drunk,

Personal Journeys, Poetry, Spiritual Recovery, Treatment Programs

You were the only one there
when no one was.
You were the only thing to take away the pain.
You numbed me.
You made me not have to feel the hurt I felt each day.
But then you numbed me, to the point where you were the only thing that could help me cope.
You to my mind, life, family, friends.
You took more then my hurt.
You took all of me and more.
Now I sit and of all the things I missed, wasted time because of you.
Now you are gone, I’m taking my life back.
You will no longer control me.
This is my LAST goodbye.
I’m in control now.

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You were the only one there when no

Poetry

A drink can only fool you
A pill will only lie,
To say “Here is happiness for a while
But in return your heart will die”,
One sip and you’ll be fooled
dancing into night
but once the morning light is blazing
even sunshine will seem like a bitter dogs bite,
A hit may leave you smiling
but once it starts to fade
darkness may seem safer
so what’s the point in escaping
the life we are supposed to make?
A sip will mask you in confidence
a pill will make you fake
pretending you are cool now
but leave your hands with tremors & shakes,
For a few hours you’ll seem perfect
like all sorrow is a lie
but once the feeling disappears
tomorrow will simply cry.
why not live with all the empty
and fill your heart with words
for to escape the pain entirely
is to become, in exchange, your hurt.

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A drink can only fool you A pill

Personal Journeys, Poetry

Author: Sam M.

We meet again my vicious friends…
It’s been a while thought I was changing my style
Still I needed you that is no denial
Life constantly flows like the Nile
Everyone knows if I’m ill it’s you who I dial
Can never be true as I bundle my shit up in a pile
Out the door I try to go
You’re pissed I’m face down on the floor I know
I laugh then crack a joke
Pick myself up see change fuck I’m broke
I don’t fit in I hang with different folk
Hitting rails I pluck my guitar with a deadly stroke On edge so I shoot before I smoke
With death I’m flirting puking between burping Head in the toilet I’m hurting
Craving a buzz so I’m slurring
Later driving to cop lost in thought severely swerving
If I’m being honest the chaos looked good in the pot I’m stirring
My mistake I don’t abide I try an hide it with a tarp Is this real or fake on either side when failure cuts it’s sharp
If offered I take
Inhale the life in my heart that’s beginning to break Quickly kicking in “numbing” the pain as I shake
The come down vibe is gasping treading water in a bottomless lake
Puzzled thoughts as I keep up the doggy paddle for my daughters sake
I’ve no preserver I see a demon I yell “No I will not dessert her”
Proceed to decline last year was a blur
Fuck this chaos I ain’t having her lick the spoon right after I stir
I snap back…
I realize I’m losing to this demon
Farther I fall soon to be sleeping
After I’ll interact with objects to show y’all I’m speaking
Pitch black I fall deeper and deeper
Feels like I’m on a track blowing the lead to a sleeper or second half Atlanta losing big with no fans on a singular bleacher…I black out…
Hypothetically speaking to my Mother screaming are you proud of your oldest
“Son you have a warm heart but strut around the coldest five foot ten but forever pulling sticks that keep you the shortest”
Mom’s a heavily educated nurse see at the time medically she fought and prayed the younger me received help to a certain degree…
I can see the light
Been doing wrong so long this feels right
Then my eyes dart open…
I picture staring at my soul
The body’s way of trickery when there’s a taste of charcoal
Ranting and raving “I’m no longer a healthy host” Visions run wild of me taking the form of a ghost
I feel my heart barely skipping
The devil gained a resident I hear snickering
The demon says “sit down and reflect on the precious time you’ll be missing”
His evil face inching closer I’m scared shitless
Then out from the abyss with an angel as my witness I engaged fight or flight in an instant
A stern voice is now speaking “Your last chance too much time you’ve been stealing constant agony the opposite of relieving Sam hurt is necessary when you’re healing”
My head shoots through that blue ceiling
Chest filling with air it’s so appealing
Now whispers of an early death refrain from speaking
I reach land glance back at the deadly pair fading Courageously I 180 a pencil to practice erasing…Life is a rough draft continuously proofread floating on a poorly designed raft…
For me that’s heard at a different volume..
I keep myself on the forefront
When I unwelcome the generous offer of a shortcut
Irrelevant when I hear them judge
Carnage behind me it’s okay to hold that grudge
Numb to insults I will never budge
Knowing what spews out they mouth leaves a trail of sludge…
This is forever everyday I’m getting better I step outside regardless of terrible weather look up and thank God that we doing this together

When life gives you lemons make orange juice and leave them wondering…lastly I ask…a moment of silence for the still sick and suffering

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Author: Sam M. We meet again my vicious

Poetry

Author: Sydney L.

Men would envy, women crave him.
He might be president.
He pictured himself in a black limousine.
He’d be given whatever he might want.

He wanted wine, as a matter of fact,
Or something with alcohol.
And so, for all his aspirations,
He really didn’t do much at all.

Or in the life of his mind he’d become
a champion wrestler. His sweat
would lend a sheen to his rippled triceps.
But he liked beer. He liked it a lot.

And further, no one huffed with awe
As he played the guitar, though he’d planned
To dash into nationwide fame overnight,
Fronting a world-famous band.

It took years to see what he was: a lush.
It gnawed at him like a rat,
How much he needed the goddamned booze.
He thinks, it was three generations back

That he started drinking if he factors in
Milk from his grandmother’s famous
Breasts, then his mother’s. Then vanilla extract,
Everclear, Listerine mouthwash– you name it:

Whatever went down would do. He looked down
From what he believed was a tower
On everything, on every being.
But in fact he kept getting lower, lower

Than Miracle

Men would envy, women crave him.
He might be president.
He pictured himself in a black limousine.
He’d be given whatever he might want.

He wanted wine, as a matter of fact,
Or something with alcohol.
And so, for all his aspirations,
He really didn’t do much at all.

Or in the life of his mind he’d become
a champion wrestler. His sweat
would lend a sheen to his rippled triceps.
But he liked beer. He liked it a lot.

And further, no one huffed with awe
As he played the guitar, though he’d planned
To dash into nationwide fame overnight,
Fronting a world-famous band.

It took years to see what he was: a lush.
It gnawed at him like a rat,
How much he needed the goddamned booze.
He thinks, it was three generations back

That he started drinking if he factors in
Milk from his grandmother’s famous
Breasts, then his mother’s. Then vanilla extract,
Everclear, Listerine mouthwash– you name it:

Whatever went down would do. He looked down
From what he believed was a tower
On everything, on every being.
But in fact he kept getting lower, lower

Than almost anyone he knew.
He dwelt in a strange cold fire.
No flowers for him to smell, no skin
He could gently touch, no music to hear.

But listen. He didn’t die. He likes
Where he is just now, and how,
Watching through his kitchen window
A white winter hare in new-fallen snow.
almost anyone he knew.
He dwelt in a strange cold fire.
No flowers for him to smell, no skin
He could gently touch, no music to hear.

But listen. He didn’t die. He likes
Where he is just now, and how,
Watching through his kitchen window
A white winter hare in new-fallen snow.

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Author: Sydney L. Men would envy, women crave