A Poem.

It's the Past That Makes Us Stronger


November 21, 2003.
My ears are ringing,
My eyes are burning,
My throat is closing,
My limbs are numbing.
All my senses crippling
As I stand here a still bystander
Accompanied by lonely silence.

This silence is
Deafening,
It’s choking,
It’s restricting,
And somehow it’s tangible.
For it is the nothingness
That has become of her.
Silence so silent yet I can’t hear her breathing.

Why isn’t she breathing?

“Mom?” asks little 8 year old me
For this is mommy’s first overdose.
First of just three.

Needles, pipes, trays of crack
Broken liquor bottles,
And carpets reeking of alcoholism.
Walls screaming addiction.
Pills spilled out of their bottles and
Smoke stained ceilings
Clouding her consciousness.

Decisions defective, far from receptive.
Yet still I see needles.
Needles pumping venom into delicate veins
Venom be it heroin,
It doesn’t matter the name.
For nothing can change that mindset:
‘Just one more hit will ease the pain’.

But don’t mistake what I’m trying to communicate
For the pity from you is not the aim.
I’ve come to accept her,
No more anger remains.

These are my cards,
Cards I’ve been dealt in this risky game of not
Poker, Blackjack, or go fish.
But life.
Life that’s problematic,
And systematic full of
Broken records playing around us.

My cards aren’t restricting,
They’re rather reflecting of the decision
We all have to make.
Optimism or Pessimism.
Your life, your choice, your decision.
For problems are problems.
It’s all on how we decide to approach them.
Either way we have to learn to deal,
Because we deal them ourselves.
We are all dealers metaphorically,
We contribute to this endless cycle criminally.

All in all, I suppose the curtains closing.
I’m not complaining, I’m just stating.
I wouldn’t trade my cards for anything,
For it’s the past that makes us stronger
And that’s one I live no longer.

For this is me, Sam Derby.
Behind the mask we all foolishly wear.

What’s behind yours?