An Addicts Poem: A selection of poems written through addiction and recovery.

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Curtis Fox: That was “Frying Trout while Drunk” by Lynn Emanuel which is also collected in her book, Hotel Fiesta. So Neil, what do the details, the very vivid details in this poem, reveal to you about the speaker? I've lost count of the number of heartfelt letters I sent my son, as well as the many times I tried to talk to him. Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is rampant, blood diseases, ****** diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, Asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years walking down Alzheimer's Lane, not being able to remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago but revisiting gold nuggets from from fifty-some-odd years ago with ease. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some can't even sleep at night but they still carry on. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. Or be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.

For all of these women, opium formed part of ordinary domestic life, used to manage pain, illness and distress, and valued for its power to sedate and tranquillise rather than for its stimulant properties or its ability to induce dreams and visions,” Crawford sums up, quoting the opening lines of Seward’s 1773 sonnet – “Thou child of Night and Silence, balmy Sleep / Shed thy soft poppies on my aching brow!” Neil Steinberg: Yes. We’re under a variety of stresses. Getting a release can be difficult. I think substances are increasingly there. Drugs are becoming more legal, more available. Some of the Puritanical scorn that came along with consuming that kind of things are going away; it used to be a sin, and now it’s just a bad choice. So yes. Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Unhindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.

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Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to create something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede. If you have your own family, I’ll see it’s destroyed, I’ll steal every pleasure in life you’ve enjoyed. I’ll not only hurt you, I’ll kill if I please, I’m your worse living nightmare. I am your disease. If you want to stop taking drugs, your GP can tell you about the treatment options and services available. They can also refer you for treatment.

Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them. So please don’t forget me, I won’t forget you, I’ll stand by your side watching all that you do, I’m ready and waiting, so call if you please, I won’t let you forget me… I am your disease. I bring self destruction, but still you can’t tell, I’ll sweep you through heaven, then drop you in hell, I’ll chase you forever wherever you go, And then when I catch you, you won’t even know.

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He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight. At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Kandi kids sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.

An inventively ekphrastic poem, “Still Life” places the speaker so thoroughly among the minute details of paintings as to be almost inside them, while her mother, elsewhere, suffers a stroke. Although their emotional interaction with objects is different, the mother is similarly attentive to the particularity of things, with a strict opinion about how to cut a banana. By the poem’s end, the speaker moves, like moving from painting to painting or detail to detail, toward identification with the mother, an apple not much “farther from the tree,” and holds, in memory, herself and her mother together in a mirror gilded like a painting’s frame. Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.

If you’re struggling to overcome an addiction, no one needs to tell you it’s tough – you’re living it. Sometimes you could use a few encouraging words to remind you that you’re not in this alone and that, yes, change really is possible. With that in mind, here are some words for those in recovery, each designed to shine a little light when things look dark.