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.
I
AM
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.
