Best Druggie Poems
You may see me out on the streets
Lying curled up in a foetal position my sleeping bag in a shop doorway
Trying to get a few hours sleep here in my latest home in cardboard city …
I never stay more than a few nights in one place
can never really settle; these streets aren’t safe
You may see me out on the streets
I’m sitting on the cold damp pavement with an empty coffee cup in my hand
Hoping for a coin or two so I can have some real food in my aching belly
Still you hurry past, trying to avoid making eye contact…
Believe me, it’s so degrading rummaging in the litter bins like a wild animal
But some days it’s the only way I can get any food to eat
The biting cold and wet weather is my worst enemy
I can never get warm even when the sun shines
This is no life, just a way of surviving another day
Guess you think I’m a waster, a dirty tramp
You walk on by; judge me without knowing what lead me to life on the streets
Bet you think I’m a druggie or an alcoholic
I guess most people seem to think that
They see my filthy clothes, straggly hair and grey beard
Just five years ago I was like many of you
I had a career, a beautiful wife, and two lovely children
Spent many months away from home fighting for my country
But then I got sent to Afghanistan…
I saw scenes no man should ever have to witness
I was traumatised
Forever suffering flashbacks of the faces of those innocent people
The children, oh those children – made me think of my two boys back at home
I couldn’t cope any more, had a total mental breakdown
I was a broken man …
My wife could no longer deal with the mood swings , the erratic behaviour
The Army did little to help –
discharged me on health grounds, then basically abandoned me
Now I’ve lost everything … my wife, family, my dignity
Many of the people you see on the streets are like me …
We all have a story to tell, but no one gives us the time of day
Passers-by avert their eyes and hurry past like we are invisible
Your eyes may tell you one thing… but please don’t judge me
Because you don’t know me
Categories:
druggie, career, drug, identity, life,
Form:
Free verse
Once, when I was young – another writer,
A poet and poetry lover, someone undiscovered…
She (it could have been he since I only knew
Pen names that faded from my memory once
The words had left their imagery)…
Anyway, she or he… told me that my poetry,
Yes, MY POETRY, the words that I wrote,
The little flawed victims of my heart, my soul,
Thoughts that were sometimes fleeting –
And, other times, like some leech settling in
Around my life, overwhelmed by the letters,
The rhymes, the rhythms that felt like liquid laughter,
Kissing away the shadows that clung to my mind –
She or he – told me that my poetry reminded them
Of Plath! The one and only… Sylvia Plath..
It felt like a death sentence in a way, but I learned to listen
To the memory like it was one heartbeat away from
Losing its hold on me, the memory has no real power –
It loses its ability to tempt and torture, its gift for doubt
Its capacity and urgency, blaming the winds of autumn,
The sing song sounds of spring, the melancholic mist of winter,
The ache of summer plays in trembling octaves of verse –
While I remember…
Her suicide and then, years past that poet’s pointed clue
Finding out I was bipolar and knowing what it is…
Feeling crazy, like a druggie or – the woodpecker must…
Feel the crazy that comes from thumping away at that oak,
Striking it again and again with a beak that couldn’t have been
Made by man.
Only God could have created the woodpecker and only God
Could have silenced the fear in my heart when I thought of…
The mania that shredded my hopes and plunged me into doubt,
And, only God could have been such a dependable friend
That I never felt the need to take the life that He gave to me,
The same life He saved when He forgave me for my sins.
Not so much like Plath, you see… not so much like Plath,
Who will always be a lesson to poets who believe…
Only God has the right to whisper farewell to the light,
The light He stirred inside when He promised you this time,
These precious moments, this life – blessed by grace,
Inspired by faith and brought to glory by the love that He gave.
Categories:
druggie, poems, poetess, poetry, poets,
Form:
Free verse
Coffee
By Samantha McCune
I am in love with Sami and she with me,
My name is Coffee.
We meet in the early mornings and sometimes in the afternoon,
Without me, I’m afraid she’d act like a complete loon.
Our devotion for each other began in college
Heavy textbooks, extensive lectures, stacks of knowledge
As she embarked on the new and exciting journey of teaching as her profession,
Her love for me grew like a relentless obsession.
When her lovely little boy Jacob was born,
I asked myself, “Could this love be torn?”
“No, no, no” what was I thinking?
This love between us was forever ours for keeping.
I am the number two product sold in this world.
Some like me hot, cold, or swirled and twirled.
Beware, I cautioned her, six cups or more,
You may end up a coffee whore!
You will need my caffeine,
Like a druggie needs his morphine.
So please, do not abuse our love when we meet
I am here for you as your sweet treat to keep!
Categories:
druggie, funny love, drug,
Form:
Personification
Let me waste my breath
Scream this at the top of my lungs
Until my face turns blue
You'll never learn
I'll never learn
And I'll never disconnect this bad habit
You need me like a a druggie needs his needles
I need you like a bullet to the head
We existed once
We exist now
Just crumbling apart until nothing is left
So many years spent
In obidience, biting my tongue until it bled
Of wonderful laughs and bliss
Memories that are inseperable to my heart
But what we have is headed for the grave
Where it will lay it's head and rest in peace
This friendship has reached it's expiration date
Unraveled with time like an antique rug
You're the one pulling the strings, kneading the threads apart
I'm the one trying to sew it up on the other end
Stabbing and pricking my fingers till they bleed
Working in vain to stitch this friendship
Stitch this gaping hole, splattered in blood from these hands
That have worked hours, days, weeks, and months
To fix this while you unravel it
Down to nothing but the single threat that made it.
I'm wasting my breath
and I'm wasting my time
To salvage a friendship
That wasn't friendship
Categories:
druggie, abuse, betrayal, emo, feelings,
Form:
Free verse
You aren't the woman I saw,
back when I was little.
You seemed so strong,
I guess that is why I was shocked when you cried.
I remember all the memories,
you, my two friends, and I.
We would always make so many things,
crafting became our everyday ritual.
painting, baking, puzzles, and necklace making.
You kept me happy,
hiding me from the shadows.
From all the things that were out to get me.
I now see who you were,
a druggie,
a drunk.
I don't blame you, no,
It was his fault.
That pathetic excuse of a man.
The thing keeping you from seeing your only son.
At one point I heard you proclaim,
through tears,
and sobs.
You thought I was asleep,
but I heard every word.
"I want to die!"
four words that showed me,
your love for my half brother and I.
I see you now,
proud and happy.
I remember laughing the day we got our bunny.
I remember the strawberries,
and the fireworks.
The bead crafts,
and gel pens.
I remember our long crazy talks,
and cleaning out the old attic.
I remember the dumpster dives,
and the birthday gifts.
I remember your face,
smiling, happy, loving;
and I know that even after you're old and senile,
I'll still love you.
Fully heartedly,
my mother.
Categories:
druggie, addiction, daughter, emotions, forgiveness,
Form:
Free verse
9/20/16
Not only talking about the tummy
When I say I'm hungry
Always grew up out in the country
Where there weren't always paved roads, it was dusty
And more bumpy
The days usually sunny
Muggy
And occasionally gusty
Certain items left out in the elements turned rusty
Forming a layer that was somewhat crusty
Not yet have I played rugby
Or sipped a double cup that was muddy
Can't see any good in being a druggie
Or whatever you want to call it, maybe a junkie?
History has shown, so you don't neccessarily have to trust me
The times have always been bloody
And rather ugly
Can't rely on being lucky
Because that logic is nutty
I want to see my mother living comfy
And never again crummy
To put it bluntly
Got to think and get that money
Daily not just monthly
Not concerned about any who choose to judge me
Or wether or not, others shall treat me justly
With wisdom realizations came abruptly
Still I try to learn and study
Some say we evolved from monkeys
But we
All have our own opinions and little to any proof of the truth
After all this time, is that sad or funny?
Brainwashed individuals being molded like putty
Behind the scenes things happening corruptly
Try to not be clumsy
And always grumpy
Car crash tests being conducted with a dummy
And at times the end results are so far from lovely
By: Dalton Ogletree
Categories:
druggie, poetry, rap, women, word
Form:
Rhyme
The Red Devil, Bronco Johnson in 75
I lived in Morningside, moved in a massage parlor girl
2 kids a Kangaroo dog and a white rat called Merle (Greyhound roo catcher)
We had a druggie ambo man, so Wayne put her in his bed
And they’d be a smoking weed, the Ambo and Mildred
Of course she had a Bludger who lived on her wage of sin...(pimp)
So Wayne chased him out to work used my stock whip on young Jim
Seems she started working from the house, clients were coming in
Commonwealth Police watched the place, we went to New Farm slim
Jenny came to visit me and Wayne he had Estelle
I worked at the Hacienda and the Jet club as well (Bouncer)
Estelle was jealous, maybe Jane was on the side
Estelle married a 21 year old, 42 the blushing bride
Wayne went to the local café to get a burger feed
Said how you doing Charlie Brown to a dark and swarthy weed
Who said “I’m ok mate just take a plurry look,”
Car load on the footpath, all his brothers and a chook (shiela)
Rubbish dumped on the street, we had gone and seen
Soon we had some furniture and a washing machine
We shoved some fellas to get through, then in the boot she’d ride
Discovered later it was new, plastic on the wringer side
So Wayne went back to Charleville or maybe places north
To fly across the flooded creeks, fast for all he’s worth (60mph)
For the highway does a beckon, yes he’s still a driving on
And I surely really miss him and I can’t believe he’s gone
Don Johnson
Wife stealing cousin Wayne died of prostate in 07 ?
He had stolen my wife in 1998 :)
But them's the breaks hey:)
60 miles and hour across flooded creeks
Categories:
druggie, adventure, cousin, drug,
Form:
Rhyme
the lonesom nights of wondering if people cared.
The dreary days, when u thought no one was there.
The threats of you saying you were ending your life.
You always seemed to be on the downside.
But you were a character.
Took pride in every thing you did.
Your kids were everything,
even though a stump in the road,
you couldnt see them.
You lived life,
you made your mistakes.
But the worst mistake you made,
was going down to that place.
Drugs, were your addiction.
Your main escape.
Why did you have to leave this way?
Note: My Uncle overdosed on heroin and was a big druggie all his life he tried so hard to
make things better but it seemed like someone was always bringing him down. He went to re-
hab so many times and seemed to be getting better until he went to a drug house and we're
sure that they beat him up and gave him bad heroin. they dragged him outside and just left
him there. But i dont know. these are some
of my feelings.
Categories:
druggie, loss
Form:
Lyric
CHANCE
Condemned, sent to the cells, throw away the key as you’re a car thief.
No hope, needles found in your room and marks on your arm, druggie.
Loser, crime ridden estate, not safe after dark, they’ll have you for sure.
Reality is here, the estate I live on, St Mary’s in Oldham, like any other in England.
Don’t condemn the youth here as they’re our country’s future, time needs to be
taken to understand and learn about them, not to go to war on them.
Give them a chance, is all lost before we start or can something be made out
of nothing, the young made responsible, to do it right first time?
Categories:
druggie, city, poverty, teen, drug,
Form:
Free verse
when you get old enough,and are like me,you want to solve mysteries.
my oldman being the case,
very violent
never knew consequences for his actions.
his father protected him,spent thousands of dollars in bailing him out of jail
spent even more in most cases in providing high priced attorney's to aid his son in Federal crimes.
my oldmans mother owned a saloon and died early in his life,this loss sent him into destruction....
drinking
hard drugs
fire arms
murder
domestic violence
infidelity
armed robbery would become Frankie Boy's menu.
what makes this tale complicated is that in his mayhem he was in is own right a Renaissance man.he loved horses taught him self how to ride,he was a lefty in playing golf.
he wanted to be a undertaker because he saw it's money making potential
he wanted to be a Police officer but there was a hiring freeze
he flew small airplanes as a crop duster.
so when telling this story you need to take a breath.
what do you make of a man who loved silence on top of the roof of an apartment building then in that same place take a 12 gage shotgun and from that roof top kill a man in the street.
in time a car accident did him in,caused him paralysis from his neck down
he would die in hospital
with assistance of drugs that were injected into his IV by one of his visiting druggie friends.
so before the angels came,he died in bed
shhhhhh.
Categories:
druggie, abuse, nostalgia,
Form:
Free verse
2/19/21
Among the dirt and grass
Near and far from curving paths
It's proven, I don't need to determine that
Many once thought, the Earth was flat
People so quick to judge and be the first to laugh
Events happened slowly or occurred fast
Rooftops and areas full of too much bird crap
The alcohol never once turned it's back
Or was concerned with the fact
Of how often and much I was earning cash
Praying for my downfall, hoping to see me burning fast
All this surging crap
Going to give you an allergic rash
As well as you facing eternal wrath
Kept feeling the love
When push came to shove
Never once tried to treat me like scum
Or to drag my name through the mud
Wasn't out to see me pay in blood
Always been my bud
The dabs didn't judge
Or hold a grudge
Didn't talk just because
They thought they had a clue of who I truly was
Never cared if I ever was buzzed
Or covered in sludge
Whether in the city or country
To put it bluntly
From here to Philadelphia not always sunny
Never once expected something from me
Nobody else was there, but it was there to hug me
The money
Didn't judge me
If it got bloody
And rather ugly
Or if I ever was a druggie or junkie
Didn't treat me like a dummy
Or think it was so funny
Always trying to one up me
And being far too touchy
Yet so quick to make me suffer unjustly
People too often on their high horse, others starving and hungry
Categories:
druggie, addiction, dark, deep, life,
Form:
Rhyme
No penality...(in Australia)
There is no penalty aint no penalty mate…
The old crim smirked and laughed out loud
As they sat with a beer and a steak
Do what you like he told the crowd
The doo gooders laws are cake
Break the law in Singapore
get flogged for your mistake
the penalty there will make you sure
don’t get caught in that island state
the druggie drove with his foot to the floor
cursing motorists in his wake
nocked down old Thelma dead for sure
3 months for his mistake
We know it is a system fault
That stops a computer mate
Do we have nothing up top in our vault
Do we control our fate
Minority groups control the world
The masses have no say
Anarchys banner is unfurled
And the terrorists protected hey
Don Johnson
Should we have a referendum to return the old respected system of law and order
That worked well in the sixties …yes for sure ..
Without discipline anarchy prevails
Categories:
druggie, adventure, old, old, drug,
Form:
Ballad
I Could Have Been
By Franklin Price
Ediited 6/22/2017
(originally written 6/22/2014)
I could have been a lot of things I'm really glad I'm not;
A liar and a cheater, a druggie or a sot
A selfish inconsiderate, treating others quite unfair
Looking down, from my exalted perch, my nose up in the air
My pockets full of money, earned through any means at all,
With unappreciative peons, at my daily beck and call.
Friends, because I give them almost everything they need,
While I use them, in most any way, to satisfy my greed.
None of these are who I am. I could name so many more.
Yet that would be a waste of time and make my fingers sore.
Let me provide some insight, into who I think is me,
And how I've traveled through this life and how things ought to be,
To top the list, above all else, to love your fellow man.
Many make it difficult, they don't seem understand.
It's not do it unto others. before they do it unto you;
It's to try to put yourself into the other person's shoe.
Think long and hard before you speak, be careful what you say,
For words come back to bite you, in an unexpected way.
Make friends because you like them, not for what they do for you,
Hope that in befriending you, that is their real reason too.
Don't think you're any better than ones who have a little less,
For oh so many reasons, their lives could be in such a mess,
Be grateful that you're fortunate, put a smile upon your face,
For misfortune could easily visit you and put you in their place.
Do not envy others who have a little more than you.
If you work a little harder, then you can have it too.
It's not about the things you have, but how you look at life.
It's far too short to dwell on things that only cause you only strife.
If you give to other people, expecting nothing in return,
It's better than receiving, that's a lesson I have learned.
If it just so happens that some of them reciprocate,
That it's not because they think they owed, but that they appreciate.
Consider all your actions and how they would make you feel.
If it's less than positive. it's not too late to change the deal.
It's only you, who has to know, the one you need to be
And when looking in the mirror you still like the one you see.
Categories:
druggie, philosophy, self,
Form:
Couplet
Shoot it in
Shoot it high
In my stream
Or I'll die
Poem drug
Just for me
Shooting up
Constantly
Poem fix
Take me high
A good trip
Paint the sky
Oh, what sweet...
ECSTACY
Taste of real...
FANTASY
All is cool
All is fine
Druggie girl
Likes her rhyme
Powered words
Potent praise
Under tongue
What a daze!
No rehab
Not for me
Got some more?
Yes, it’s free
Overdose?
No, no way
Double hit…
Starts my day
YOU’RE my drug
Can’t you see?
And your name?
Poetry!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Categories:
druggie, poetry, drug,
Form:
Quatrain
She was only a whore they said
Just a druggie on the game
Most of the papers couldn’t be
Bothered to correctly spell her name.
Just an illegal immigrant tart,
Part of one of those foreign mobs
Over here to claim our benefits
Ot take over all of our jobs.
Not one of your high class call girls
Who service the Commons and Lords
Free of the general approbation
Such elevated status affords.
Not your enthusiastic amateur
Who put it about for free
Or one of those who’ve made it
By appearing on reality TV.
Not your free loving aristocrat
Hopping gaily from bed to bed
No, just a common street walker
Who unfortunately ended up dead.
Having so dehumanised her as
Just another lump of dead meat
Who earned herself a living by
Selling cheap sex on the street
This allegedly Christian nation
Doesn’t really bother anymore,
Just turns to the sports page
For the latest footie score,
Or, the very wealthy
With no real material cares,
To financial pages to check
Returns on stocks and shares.
Some mother, father or child
Who won’t see her anymore
Are suffused with pain and grief
Even though she was only a whore.
Categories:
druggie, anger, class, death, political,
Form:
Rhyme