I am an addict.

Every picture of my childhood shows me holding a man or a man holding me.
They thought it was cute.
Twelve birthdays later he still never showed
and they don't think it is cute no more.
They're right.
It's desperate.

But isn't the point of getting sober to find happiness.
Well I'm sober now.
And I know the only thing right now that can fix me

is the dark hairs on the back of a hand or
that smell they all wear.

And if it's true that we always stay addicted,
I am ******.