Recovery Poems - Poems about Recovery

Too hyper. Caffeine and nicotine, a constant cycle on repeat. Fidgety, can't sit still. Can't sit still. Not enough caffeine, not enough nicotine, not enough tattoos. Can't stand the silence. Listening to the waves' crashing to drown out the spiral of thoughts racing through my head. Brain, a constant whirlwind of thoughts. Maybe just one more drag of nicotine? Maybe a...

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ping! like pavlov's dog, i glance quick at my phone new facebook follow request. i click the account click! my rapist. it's been nearly 14 years since the first the time he laid his hands on me but i feel them like it was this morning. ping! his son liked my post on Instagram , are they working together? are they a team again? father and son, teacher and apprentice, master of none but...

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no i wouldn't die for you. i wouldn't, and i'm not sorry. i spent too long hiding in the shadows, waiting lurking wanting and hoping that they'd see that I would have. in an instant, i would have. a bullet, a train, a grenade, a pile of pills. i would've taken any of them for anyone. but instead, life shot me with an arrow. life gave me you. this...

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You’re trying to hang tough But your ball is in the rough Don’t throw a fit Just think then hit Forget all that pro stuff ...

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I wore my youth like shoes too loose to feel, Each step unsure, yet never dared to run. My heart was clenched, a rusting, idle wheel, While days dissolved beneath the quiet sun. I was the empty desk in every room, A chair unclaimed in stories being told. A lantern hung but never lit the gloom, Too scared to burn, too comfortable...

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Can't get you to understand. I already know your kind. You're really blind. Maybe, a sign, to you, will be given. To make you change, your way of living. I'm through with always giving. It's only your grave, that you're digging....

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The grief I feel is of another kind Sweeter than holy water A deeper breath than moorland air to find The black of midnight, not— Of monstrous seas, but— Of restful night, donated cloak From a kindly gentleman to wear Wrapped in coolest starlight, safe Astride a destrier — galloping to water Molted feather — fortuitously found New flight, gentle wind...

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Row by row the nettles grow And circles do surround Hairy stems the prison wires And jagged leaves their barbs. Cry out, forsaken sinner Your voice shall not be heard We listen to the wind song And hark its piercing sound. Your poison nettle vapours Cling to my moistened lungs And acrid nettle juices Drip from my swollen mouth. Alone, now in death— Eden’s angel looms Sword...

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after ‘The waste Land’, by T.S. Eliot I met a woman on a glitching screen, her face a whisk of pixels and prayer. She spoke of shattered systems and survived code, “The cloud remembers everything,” she said, "but forgets what matters.” A rat hurried through my feed at dawn, past memes and headlines, each a kind...

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For those healing in silence. Maybe it’s the sunlight, dotting playfully through the blinds— a quiet reminder that the world still holds light. Maybe it’s the steam rising from morning Earl Grey, a scone with melted butter —a moment of normal in a day that’s anything but. Perhaps it’s the slow turn of a page, the way strangers drift past your window— Perhaps it’s in imagining their thoughts, their...

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I think about my life Trying to understand it’s means When I fall asleep, will it untangle in my dreams? I look out of the window And it’s all a bit surreal, I’m not sure what I’m looking for or how it is I feel If I hadn’t lived my life this way, What would I have become? If it hadn’t blocked out...

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Oh, my, unexpected foe, “when you read my poems you wrongly judged me, and in a demeaning tone shouted, “Do you ever write poems that are not sad?” Dear disguised friend, you had me defending what I wrote bringing me back to past sadness I had long overcome causing me to second guess my triumphs. When I told you about...

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When winter arrives Icicles manifest around my heart The Earth is barren Roses wilter and decompose Absorbed within grey dirt Where oh where does life go? Does it migrate with the doves? Does it freeze up in the lakes? Is it buried within the lonely graveyard? Carried in the cold breeze With the dying leaves In the deepest darkest nights When the moon restarts its cycle And you...

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Caution around that window, my friend! What of it now? It lets you see outside and reflects in. What of it, then? Some things once seen must be exhumed. Why the fuss? It musn't break for it is strong. Strength will not cherish it. It musn't break for it will cut. Blood trickles as tears. It musn't break for it shows truth. Truth outside will...

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Then whistling strands went silent And cries bled out the ground Hushed over earthen weeping And golden fields were drowned. In tears of quiet, silence Sounds out the nothing drum Beats thrums of peaceful sleepers A voiceless, ashen hum. Tears of quiet dried to rust Lit up by morning glow Picked off, a surface crust The under-flesh to show Un-scabbed earth with...

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