The perfect response..

Somebody could be a natural at many things
Like singing or dancing or drawing things
Other people are great at writing things
And I'm good at poetry

I naturally write in verse,
Poetic as I think,
I've even been caught mumbling
Words without any ink.

I'm a natural poet
(and most don't even know it)

I can still see you and your Crowne Royal sitting on your throne after drowning in the tequila sunrise you left behind yesterday morning
You are my home, you are my salvation
You are my hell, you are my damnation
And I realize I can’t heal you.

It’s March now and you’ve been drowning in your sorrow for ten months, praying she can keep you from reaching the bottom of your bottle
She is your home, she is your salvation
She is your hell, she is your damnation
And she realizes she can’t heal you.

She isn’t like the woman you’re used to
She doesn’t have that plump, patient, strawberry smile and wide eyes with a wolf howl in her throat
She doesn’t have that serenity and solitude, walking out of the kitchen with Tennessee whiskey and dried up roux on her apron towards her white Pickett fence, reminiscing on the days when the walls were made of barb wire

She doesn’t have her freedom when she roams, barefoot in nothing but your long ***** flannel as she calls the babies in for supper, kicking up red Georgia clay towards the Milky Way sky

But she’s a somebody
She’s a somebody with her long, fake eyelashes curled up towards the ceiling and her plumped up lips with a price tag on her Cupid’s bow

She’s a somebody who’s hair falls flat in the morning, and even though she doesn’t know what it’s like to pull twigs out of her curls when she wakes up after dancing around with you in the barn at three o clock, laughing in whispers so her babies don’t hear her

I love her

And I hope that she at least believes she can heal you
And I hope that I at least believe she can heal you
And I hope that one day, you reach your hands up to heaven and remember what it’s like to hold the heart of God on a Sunday morning, and be forgiven

And I hope that you’ll believe that he can heal you
Because he is our home, he is our salvation
He is our hell, he is our damnation
And one day, I know he will heal you.

Two eyes in the mirror, looking back at me,
Forcing me to peer beyond what the eyes refuses to see.

Begging me to acknowledge what I’ve tried so hard to hide,
So it’s times to be brave and address the little girl inside.

It’s okay to be afraid, I know what you’re going through,
You don’t have to feel alone, I’ll take this journey with you.

I’m sorry for all the neglected cries you have tried to express,
I’m sorry for all the times I’ve ignored you, thinking that I know what’s best.

Forgive me for all the times when I’ve avoided you,
It’s just that acknowledging you is something I’ve tried hard not to do.

Forgive me for all the times I’ve refused to hold your hand,
I’m sorry for all the times I’ve left you sinking in quick sand.

You deserve to be loved and yet I just left you alone,
Please forgive me for abandoning you to survive on your own.

Forgive me for not showing you how to demand what you are worth,
I should have taught you about your value, you’ve been a queen since birth.

You are loved
You are worthy
You deserve more
You’re are not to blame
You can do it
You are important
You are beautiful
You make a difference
You are valued
You matter
You are resilient
You are enough

Working on the tenacious tendency
To reduce myself and render me ruined
Describing the dictating feelings is dire
Sometimes I wish to go forth and set myself on fire

The firewater was a necessary fuel
For I can only burn from the inside out
The doubt, the drought of positivity
Were kindling enough to ignite the fright

That fear was a mere beginning
The story passed down from generation to generation
Resulting in a confrontation, an activation
Sometimes things must be incinerated

Then it can start again, become educated, bloom
"I hate myself" turned to " let's change thyself"
Laborious toil upon the charred soil
Brought forth the grounds in which to root

They say April showers bring May flowers
Though it's never told how hard it is to conjure up the storm
It takes something from within, the want of a win
Only me, myself and I can decide to arise

speaking for millions of
people who were and who have been suffering from addiction:

i do have to thank the two of you.
the tradition of the twelve steps had not existed before you created and established them.

you have a shelter in my
mind and in my soul.

God bless you.
R.I.P. Bill and Bob

how disturbingly insidious you are.
you must hate me, don't you?
i mean who are you?!

you're playing tricks on me like crazy. that's for certain. and if anything is for certain in our drug-plagued country, then it is this certainty: that you ― the child-like dictator ― want to rule over me.

let me explain to the reader why i am saying so:

an hour ago, i was taking my son to kindergarten. closely to the chest my little daughter eden; sleeping in a baby carrier.

after i had dropped off my son, ideas for new poems were going through my head.

i eventually decided to write a poem on drugs, written from the perspective of various mind-altering substances.

well. fine.

i got home. my wife took eden out from the baby carrier. i was ready to write. only one cigarette first. smoking on the balcony. don't need my kids to inhale toxical fog. and don't need to know them about my smoking habit.

suddenly, out of the blue (no: out of the dark) ―

out of the dark, you made my heart beating faster. my heart was racing. my heart was banging against my chest.
secretly, you creeped through the area between skin and soul.
seconds later, you made it somehow to reach my mind.

inside my head, you were not saying anything. i don't hear voices and i'm not crazy. (that's the second certainty i am gaining from writing this poem.)

you're not a talker, child-like dictator. you're a quiet addict, depressed and scared to speak with others. because you do fear people, closeness and love. you fear them so much that you want to do drugs in order to feel something else than fear. and to numb how afraid of love you are.

a poor creature you are. but your attempt to ****** me quietly today: it failed.

and you know why? because i have friends. and many of these friends have been struggling with their own dictatorships. feel me.

i won't let you make my decisions.
gonna stay clean.

for me. for my family.

adios amigo. don't pressure me like you do. try to love me as i love you.

try to love.
try to.
try.

mikey

www.aa.org
www.na.org
www.ca.org

You don't have to ask for help. Not anyone.
Simply meet them.
In person, online or via phone.

Anonymously and for free.
They are unprejudiced.

the ward physician said
to an addict: YOU are going to relapse
anyhow

the chief resident told
me: if you want to have  
the numbness in your
right shin examined
you are free to leave

my reaction was a
calm one

no resentment because
i found something
inside the rehab
in the addict's stories

in their human faces
i found a healing secret