Me at fifteen

at fifteen
i didn’t question
your packing up my life
in a garbage bag
and sending me to gramma’s
i wanted my freedom
i saw being sent away
as you giving it to me
i thought i had won

at twenty five
i didn’t question
abandoning my marriage
and two children
to recapture the freedom
i perceived
as having been stolen from me
surely the end
would justify the means

at thirty five
i didn’t question
getting clean
i knew it was
either quit- or die
so i quit- because
too much freedom
had in the end
taken me hostage

at forty five
i looked into
the eyes of a woman
i had never seen before
she told me:

that fifteen year olds
don’t get garbage bags
full of freedom

that twenty five year olds
can disappear- but
never really leave-
(their children behind)

that thirty five year olds
never really get clean,,
they just quit using….

and that the only way
to ever really catch freedom
is to stop running…

This is posted in response to the call for confessional poetry on dVerse Poetry Pub Poetics.

51 thoughts on “Freedom

  1. Your recount of the phases of your life and lessons learned is wise, and so touching. May sobriety and lessons learned stand you in good stead for the future.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. A frank, honest, and poignant confessional. I won’t judge your actions, as I’m far from qualified.

    In general, I stopped believing in good guys and bad guys years ago. We’re all just guys (and gals) doing the best we can.

    I am humbled by your choice to be vulnerable for all to see. Your words resonate with me. I will not forget them.

    Liked by 2 people

    • I wouldn’t change a thing. I would not be who I am today if I did. But that doesn’t keep me from recognizing that I have done some pretty f’ed up stuff. The difference is i’m not afraid to learn from it. Thanks for taking the time to peek in this little window of my world.

      Liked by 1 person

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