Gardener

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.

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