A GIFT FOR MOMMA

A GIFT FOR MOMMA

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Parts 1

Ongoing<5 mins

Last published Sun, May 15, 2016

Alcohol abuse and dependence upon alcohol can be so devastating, not only to the alcoholic but to those in his/her life. I have heard enough times of adults speaking about an alcoholic parent as they were growing up, and how this affected them. When the child is a seven year old, it is a situation particularly wrought with such confusion. One cannot expect a child of first-grade age to understand so much about what they are seeing and hearing regarding their alcoholic parent. And yet, on a certain level, a seven year old, despite all the confused thoughts, might perceive and be sensitive to more than an alcoholic parent might think. This particular poem is about one such ficticious first-grade boy who probably exists in far too many cities throughout the world. This parent IS aware of her son's perceptions. It's just that she seems currently unable to change. As is the case with so much of my poetry, a special ending awaits, though not always a surprise ending ala Guy de Maupassant and O. Henry. There is no surprise ending here, but it is very poignant and it is piercing, particularly since the poem has been written through the eyes and words of the youngster.

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This is a collection of my writing from the past 7 years. Before I started to write, I was a very lost individual, as are most teens, but I was lost in darkness. I was too afraid to move anywhere at all. I hid in the dark, debilitated by my own anxiety, sadnesses, anger, and hopelessness. I was desperate to be loved and feared it the most, I was a coward, I was self-destructive, I would mentally bend my thoughts to the point of bordering insanity. I was born into this world alone, and got too comfortable with it. Maybe I still am, but a fraction of what I used to be. This writing is extremely vulnerable, and potentially disturbing to others, as all my weaknesses, strengths, obsessions with making every moment sentimental, the sickening desperation I've had, the destructiveness, and the constant brutal reconstruction of my mind. Without guidance, it's been absolute intense chaos. Though, there is beauty in the darkness. Everything can be found in the darkness. You'll find that through my writing, I've somehow slowly become exactly what I've written. A living representation of my writing and what I wanted to be. Without myself even knowing it. A lot of my writing themes are based around nature, or some kind of natural aspect. The imagery I paint with natural metaphors is constant, the animals, just like you and I, the plants, and all other living things. I planted these seeds in my mind, unknowingly at the time, where I now feel the deep dark green jungle pressing at the inner walls of my skull. It's all that I want to consume my mind. There's so much to learn. The magic of nature, and it's infinite wisdom. It's as if I have been on this path all along, and I didn't even know what I was doing, yet my body and mind were passively taking care of me. Giving me and eventually showing exactly what I want, and wanted to become. I have every moment, every instance of suffering, and every epiphany to be thankful for. Soon, I'll be at peace from the raging storm.

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