Just Your Average Junkie

I have an issue I need to address,
I learned I need to let shit out,
And get it off my chest.
I use to write,
Before my soul was lost.
I was going to use,
No matter the cost.
You spit out the word junkie,
As if you understand,
What it is like to be someone like me.
The predicament lies in my heart,
This is what broke me.
My mind, and my strength,
Is what built me up and set me free.
Say what you will,
To me your opinion is oblique.
I am something you will never be,
Strong, intellectual and unique.
Yes I am the one who took that pill,
Put my family through hell.
Dusted myself off,
And climbed back up the hill.
You will never understand why,
I feel the way I do.
Because you will never have the ability,
To put even one foot in my shoe.
Try all you will I guarantee,
It would never fit.
Don’t even pull up a chair,
I wouldn’t allow you to sit.
Let me explain this in a way,
Even the ignorant can understand.
Us junkies should be dead,
But we recovered,
Pull out of the shadows instead.
Could you use and recover the same,
No you speak your opinions,
Lips moving too fast to include your brain.
So take your uneducated guess,
Use your words and try to put me down,
Go ahead try and give it your best.
The fact of the matter is,
You admire my strength,
My undoubtable will to live.
I know this is something,
You will never admit.
When you see my walk by,
And not notice you at all.
When you dial my number,
And I hit ignore the call.
It’s because your opinions disunite.
It is our recovery you fear deep within,
You fear our feat while battle,
We will win the fight.
We know who you are,
You are the ones who,
Let us lay where we fell.
Oh wait I forgot we are junkies,
We know nothing at all.
Accept for the wisdom to realize,
Your words hold no potency,
You will never be able to break us,
Don’t waste time trying so hopelessly.
Sit back and judge,
A disease you could never understand.
Wonder what is that thing she wears,
On her wrist as a band?
Your heart is as weak as your mind,
Clouded with judgement,
As heavy as my bag of black sand.
It is the person you call junkie,
Who is impassioned beyond comprehension .
For he is the one,
Who bares sentiment,
Inability to cope the with the heartache,
Of those who agonize and suffer.
So he crawled in the shadows,
In a attempt to hide from the pain.
For this was his only release,
His reasonability to feel less insane.
While you stared in the mirror,
Admiring your glowing skin.
Unaware that beauty,
Can only be found deep within.
Fear not for we can’t change the past,
Fear our beginning of vitality,
Fear our indignation as we recover,
For this is the memory we intend to discover.
William Borroughs, Hunter Thompson,
Aspired intellectual literature,
You can’t begin to comprehend.
But I bet you read Stephen King,
One of the deepest story tellers,
Most imaginative process among us all.
Did you know he used cocaine,
To write his book The Observer?
But he used he is a junkie,
Yet he still writes and stands tall.
Make sure when you use that word,
Not to forget and include us all!
It is your loss you lack empathy,
And the ability to feel this deeply.
We were left hopeless,
And used drugs to escape a unsurpassable pain.
Let me try my best,
Open your thought process as I explain.
It is our hearts that could not deal,
With what our brain intended to heal,
Help us process the mechanisms,
The tools and ability to learn to feel.
I can’t help but to wonder,
What would have happened if you,
If you lent out your hand?
Lifted up a lost soul,
Sinking heavily in the sand?
Would they have picked up that needle,
Would they have smoked that bowl?
You did not even try,
We will now never know.
It is my belief where we are now,
Is just one capacious test.
You allowing cajolement,
Only hinders you from being,
One of us one of the best.
As you compile us all into your bias,
Junkies united we stand.
Don’t forget to include those authors,
You keep on your night stand.
It is that literature you place out,
Hoping company will see.
So you have something to open up,
And talk with them about.
If you put it there maybe they will,
Now form a opinion,
Not based on actual intellect no doubt.
Be careful who you judge,
Watch the words you speak.
It takes people in recovery,
To build up our most weak.
It takes the person once a junkie,
That turned me into what you see.
I hope you now understand,
And I tried my best to explain this,
To the confused at length.
We are who we are,
Our past gave us strength.
You see I was once like you,
Long before I was a junkie.
Using words for weapons,
Lacking the ability to empathize what,
thought I knew and refused to see.
Please Interpret this one thought,
I bring you from our native land.
I guarantee it is us junkies who will be here,
When you fall and need a helping hand.
When all hope is lost,
And you feel all alone.
Your fellow junkie,
Will make sure you find home.
The Junkie

Norma Jean Garbarek-Flowers

Author: Recovery Reports


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