Freedom

Like apples falling from trees, people like us aren’t supposed to travel very far. Born into penitentieries. The last brick laid generations ago. Solitary confinement. Four Walls, uncomfortable bed, and a mind that wont stop. Trading our souls for wax paper. Folds of momentary silence that we inject with old needles. Tired plungers push quiet through our weak veins. Track marks like road maps help us find our way back when we go to far, but some of us don’t make it back.  Road blocks along the way. No detour in sight. All alone. Just one more time. Last Breath.  Some of us die buried in early graves. The dirt to young to hold our bodies up. Tears fall like a great flood, because no ark could save us. Tired families left with questions, still tracing the tracks we left behind for answers, but some runaway trains never come back and that’s just the reality of this disease. There is a way out though. Like apples, plucked from a tree, packed in a box, and shipped far away, we can escape. We can go to meetings, plan, make real friends, and get someone to sponsor our prison bream. Detox. Like living through our own death HURTS, but we survive. When lost souls come together for something greater then themselves, they are no longer lost. We are no longer lost! Every dirt path we walked through barefoot made us a little bit stronger. Hands and knees scarred from crawling. Tear ducts empty. Dry tears screaming, desperate for the next fix. Aware that our souls are breaking, falling to pieces on the ground like rotten apples left on the tree to long and not willing to do anything about it. These are the feelings that make us who we are. Today we share these feelings. Crack our chest plates open and bare our souls. We get honest for the first time in our lives, and finally We feel part of something.