Will I vanish with abstinence?

Will I disappear,
a hollow woman
devoid of defect?
Will I disintegrate ,
a ghost a binges past?
Will Blubber Bloated Girl
become a bubble
and pop from existence?

Higher Power, program and fellowship
guide me towards freedom,
and I tremble,
my fear a
gaping pit of unknown
in my gut.
Disease corrupts my existence,
but I feel disease.
Disease is me.
Blubber Bloated Girl.
since age 7,
disease rotted my garden.

petals of steel grew on
razor flowers

fed by my negativity, selfishness,
anxiety, pride, lies, distrust…..

I mourn the
banishment of my baleful blooms.
For decades,
I assented to destruction;

I said yes to distress;

I embraced self immolation and injury,
my skin a map of the diseased growth.

HP freed me, but

I stubbornly, selfishly, shamefully
hide in the prison of blubber bloated girl’s garden,

rooted in my steadfast, inalienable self hatred.

Health of mind, body and soul is
anathema to disease, to me, for

I am the sunflower that is allergic to the sun.

I am the rose so gnarled and twisted that
its thorns stab its blooms.


I need a Gardener to save me from myself –

a Gardener to prune,

heal and guide me toward the light.

I need a Gardener to reestablish

my roots in the nourishment of love and trust.


I need a Gardener to

tame the disease and

transmogrify my garden.


I need a Gardener to reap my defects

and sow an OA meadow in my heart.

a sea of meeting marigolds, literature lilies,

action plan alyssum, sponsorship sage,

plan of eating petunias, telephone trumpet flowers,

writing wisteria, anonymity ageratum

and service sunflowers.


I revel in the OA bouquet and

the glorious gift of peace from HP.


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