The Kind Stranger Inside

mom said no one was coming to save me

when the kindest stranger walked over

reached out her hand with a gentle hi

said i reminded her of her younger self

offered me a hug and the measure of help

i could have never asked for on my own

the warmest invitation to frozen time

i stood outside of her door

knocking and pleading and crying

i could hear my phone calls ringing

as i begged for the person inside

to open the door for my shell outside

i had been there before but not like this

realizing the person i thought i knew

all this time was never actually home

her silence louder than the dogs barking

i had not been there before

she was inside but i was always outside

no one was coming to save me

i picked up my shell off the ground

whispered a gentle goodbye to the very

real person behind her locked door

mom always told me to be extra careful

of the kind stranger who just wants to help

I  wasn’t sure
by Nelly W.

Surefooted walking over rocks along lake champlain, my lithe tall body, with my legs in a french cut bathing suit, I am from here, I don’t know how old I am 

I  have memories of these places, of inside of trailers at a sleepover, of Haley’s comet, and Hale Bop,

Smokefilled living rooms watching Night of the Living Dead as first graders where there is Sammy Hagar Van Halen and a place in the basement to rollerskate to Madonna

I know the woods, and I walk the new  trails

I have followed a dog to see the crocus and the larch, 

and the plastic among the mulch

I had a dead battery, a wrong map, no x marks the spot, and I was terribly afraid to find my way back to the shores, so I have made every excuse, but not for my behavior.

This is where I was hurt.

I have no friends from high school. Heck, the only real friends I have are recovery buddies; they are the only ones who know how to be sneaky and to call me, so I can drop the mask with them. We have the same one that we picked up as some party favor, and so we can hand it over when the next one exits the rooms.

The relived violence, mostly to myself again. Missing the mark, getting here and trying to escape rather than leaning in to the experience.  Ingrate brat.  

And so all the murder I did in my head on so many, not following the routes, have come to this terminus.

I lacked curiosity: no investigations or explorations, just contempt prior to investigation:

old tapes and all loops– I have to take a step back to see.

Still, logic slams down feelings like a wet dough I have to punch at for a while. 

I know that I have to assemble all of the little parts of me to have enough. It’s gonna take some substance  to get a job, or wake with the alarms, got to put my big girl pants on, gotta move away again, turn the key, get the engine sparked to restart my life.

But as I go pensively, I rediscover this broken shell of myself along the water, or this little splintered rock that I would have crushed into make up pretending to be a native woman splashing in the waters, making mud pies, I do not know how old I am.

I am attracted to the shiny. I panned for gold at a tourist spot in California so I thought all gold was the shiny bits in even Lake Champlain. The parts that are me are so fragmented; yet they are glitter. I am assembling them fleck by fleck sifted through my fingers into a  goldfish gladlock from a prize booth at the Franklin County fair circa 1992. I will be squishy for a while, as a bobble, and glurp to interviews,  and I will scintillate.

When they announced it in the staff newsletter that I had resigned, when really, my job wasn’t renewed, people congratulated me for making the decision to get out. Did I see how sick this was making me? No fault of their own, but my mad head of lead could not think of a kind and gracious response. 

Do you know where you are going?  

I know it is not here anymore.  

But I wasn’t sure. 

There Were So Many Times When

There were so many times when I’ve wanted to give up, throw in the towel, and be done.
Not done with life, but done with the life I was living.
Done with being laughed at, being left out, and being forgotten. Done with being made to feel less than, not good enough, and worthless. Done with being the gum on the bottom of the shoe.
I tried to forget by moving the emotional pain to physical pain. I tried to forget by drinking the thoughts away. I tried to forget by numbing the pain away, but none of these things worked.
I must tear down the walls to feel the emotional pain.
Hear the deafening silence.
Turn the walls invisible.
Turn the silence into peace.

I Can’t Believe That Happened

I can’t believe I did that.
I can’t believe I left.
I can't believe after the years of shrinking my voice, my mind, and my self.
After the years of following the beat of only his drum.
After the years of pretending to be happy.
I can’t believe I left.
It was the start of the unfreeze, the start of feeling, the start of learning to live again.
But I didn’t know how. I didn’t know how to feel or what to feel or how to speak.
I didn't recognize my own voice.
What was this pain I felt? Where was it coming from? What do I do with it?
The emotional pain soon turned into physical pain. I understood this pain.
I saw the pain with my own eyes as it dripped down my arm.
Years of unspoken pain, released at last.

Because I Could Not Stop

Once I started, I could not stop.
The first taste of freedom was so sweet.
The second taste was even better. I was off and running.
Running toward a better story, a better me, a better life.
There was no stopping.
Launching forward, creating my own destiny. Controlling my own journey.
Bursting through the finish line.

“If we're here long enough”

How long is long enough?
If we are here long enough to see the extinction of the sun?
Or the Earth? (Would probably come first)
I would like to meet my grandkids' kids
And their kids
If they have kids-
Even long enough to see my grandkids
Grow into adults who are as awesome as my own children.
If I were here long enough
Perhaps I would see a revival of our civil discourse
Where hate would stop spewing
And we would treat each other kindly
Where we would move toward loving the planet
And each other
Because really is there any other future?

 "I create my life on purpose"
I create Good Orderly Direction
I am not random
Nor am I here by accident
I am not a mistake
Not mine or anybody else's.

 "I Am not Alone"

I am so blessed! I am among my family
And my recovery community.
I am among all the people that you see
Walking the Earth
In the photos
Artemis 2 took from the Moon.

 
"I am open to my full potential"

 By daring, risking,
Sliding, jumping, falling
Out of my comfort zone
I reap rewards.
I am ok in my space.

 I breathe deeply
Of the American air
I believe it's still there somewhere
That if I look
I will find it
Hiding, but bright-
Wholesome, unfiltered, pure and clear.

Three Short Poems 

Untitled 1

It felt like I was floating
into the sky far away
from you.

wishing I had more time.
to see your Beauty,
escaping reality

Untitled 2

Because I could not stop
the way I was drinking
and drugging, death resulted

Thinking of you, I had to
let you go.

Untitled 3

Its 2030 and everything is
perfect,
The colors were so brillant.
and people so kind, no one
half out of place

Back When I

Back when I used to be young, young was I. 
Knowing not what was I, because I didn’t know what I was. 
Was I an artist? 
Was I a musician?
Was I an athlete?
Was I a carpenter?
Was I a hero to save children weaker than I ?
Who was I?
What was I?
I was just I.
“I” a word. 
“I” one letter.
“I” one syllable.
One word “I”.
I am what I am.
Lost and confused is what I am. 
I need guidance.
I need structure.
I don’t know which way to go. 
I wish there was someone to show me.
Everyone around me is lost also. 
They don’t know where to go.
I need to find something. 
So I find oblivion. 
Yes that’s it!
Oblivion is the answer!
The only answer that works. 
Leaving this world to another place. 
There’s no need to look anymore. \
I don’t need to go anywhere. 
I can just get lost inside my own mind. 
No place, no time, no answers to the questions in my mind. 
Total oblivion is the place I find. 
It’s a sad way to be. 
Someone deep down inside of “Me” is craving to be free. 
But I’m trapped inside of “Me”. 
“Me” wants to be free.
“I” have got to find a better “Me”!

a daughter of the forest

For a moment, I could not see the trail
from where I had veered off
to relieve myself behind a large tree;

I heard a rustle off to my rear left,
and out from the leaves,
a smallish, striped creature
stuck its head

“oh, I didn’t see you there,”
I said, startled.

“hello,” said the creature,
in a voice not unlike my own.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you,”
I said to the creature, “this is where
I come to be alone.”

“it’s no trouble,”
said the sleek, orangish thing,
its fur gleaming
under patches of thick jungle sun
between spots of leafy shade.

“who are you?” I asked it,
not thinking the words to myself,
but letting the question fall
from my mouth.

“I am the last of my kind,
well, one of them, anyway;
I am a daughter to this forest.”

“did my kind hunt, trap
and kill the rest of you?”
I asked, with hesitation.

“yes,” she answered,
“but to me, this is no matter;
my life here is elusive, and
like yourself, I prefer to be alone,”
she said.

“will you show me
the secrets of the forest?”
I asked.

“come with me,” she said,
turning into the bush and
glancing back at me;
I was unsure if she cared
whether I would follow.

A moment later, I was
trailing behind
as we disappeared
among the roots and leaves.

We are SO pleased to announce the FIRST EVER WFR parents’ workshop. This new six-week writing workshop is designed to help parents and guardians of people with substance use issues share their stories in a safe, confidential, and healing environment. No writing experience is necessary, and all are welcome.

Details

Where: The Hayes Room at Kellogg Hubbard Library, Montpelier

When: 5:30-6:30, Tuesday evenings June 23, 30, July 7, 14, 21, 28.

Cost: Free to all

The Format: each week participants will be encouraged to write a response to a prompt. Those who are comfortable sharing are encouraged to read their response. Through this process, Writers for Recovery participants find fellowship and support.

If you are a parent or guardian of someone with a substance use issue, please join us!

I found myself in a building full of locked doors and barred windows, each passing moment feeling less and less human. It was as if time was slowly turning me toward a more animalistic side of basic instinct, with waves of aggression and abnormality carrying me further from myself. I longed to be on the other side of that fence, where freedom resides and greener grasses flourish.

It is true that in order to see the light, one must wade through the darkness. I found my light in the form of the written word, allowing myself to express emotion through ink and paper. Ms. Adinolfi offered an escape; she brought the tools that would free my mind from this cage and bring salvation to my soul.

This freedom came through "Writers For Recovery," a program where Ms. Adinolfi would visit Marble Valley Regional Correctional Facility once a week to share writing prompts. Each time, I would write a poem, which ultimately helped me release my emotions in a healthy, self-healing way. These entries do more than just heal; they reveal the damages I have lived through and the internal struggles I have overcome.

I thank "Writers For Recovery" and, most importantly, Ms. Adinolfi, for providing a safe and peaceful environment to confront my inner demons. I hope that this anthology reaches you when you need it most, and that the passages within find a place in your heart. We are all healing... let this book show you how we heal better, together.

The Most Important Reason

I've heard it said before: When your "why" is strong enough, then "how" becomes clearer; or something like that.
So for me, the most important reason is me.
I matter.
My life matters.
Not in a selfish way. But because I make a difference.
I should be the most important reason.
To do and be my best.
No one else can be me.
So that is the most important reason

In a Place Like This

In a place like this

Where all the little things matter the most

And all the big things you spent so much time worrying about

Because of the stories and sociocultural wah wah wah wah wahs

Every last one of them turn out to only be as big as you make them

And you deflate mostly before you get to them

In a place like this where sartre says other people are hell

And you don’t disagree

Because when you love them it hurts so much

And growing attached to them is the worst obsession

The pull so strong you can’t resist

Especially when they feel it too

And your both addicts and you know you shouldn’t

But its love

And in a place like this all we have is connection

And there are the Buddhists

Going om

And that’s nice to sit and breathe quietly for days and days

Until you lose count

But then they’re always on about impermanence

And detachment

And then it doesn’t matter

Because god’s will was indeed what you feared most

You pessimist

You never want to be right about the things you predict

So you stay present

And then you’re right and god’s will was not for him to get better

And then you’re ripped in half

And this place

This place is nowhere you want to be

And no one you want to see

But at the same time you don’t want to leave

Because you love it all

Every last tiny thing

Every rose

Every sunset and sunrise

Every bite of yellow curry

Every pain and ache in your joints

Every sleepless night

Every song that comes on

Every thing you pass by that makes you want to call him

But you can’t because he’s not him anymore

He’s not here anymore

So you just cry in a place like this

And wait gratefully and hopeful

That you’re wrong and sartre’s wrong and that something better will come in time

Once It Started

Once it started it was on. My thoughts would run. They would overcome me. They would see all my careful planning undone. They would wrinkle my clothes and scuff my shoes if I let them too. But I did what Richard Gere had said to do in that video about how to meditate from circa 1992 or something. Who knows. Could’ve originally been VHS for all I ….see! Like this. They’d do like this. So, I go, “inhale, feel all the tightness in my body, relax and exhale.” And empty. Close my eyes or let my gaze fix on the emptiness beyond the space ahead of me somewhere, elsewhere. And then it was off. If any thoughts came. I just gave them a nod of my chin. Hello. Sup. Late. I see you pal. Keep movin. Then I wouldn’t even see em anymore. And they’d just walk by. Then there were no more. That’s zen. That emptiness beyond the first five minutes. Then for the last ten I couldn’t feel the pain in my legs anymore and I had only hardly noticed it coming on. But then I gotta stand? And they want me to walk at any pace around. Man. I toppled that place like dominoes. Zen Jen they called me. Cuz apparently its Zen as fuck to practice boketto until you can’t feel your legs and then fall over and make the whole room laugh their asses off like that scene in Mary Poppins with the guys drinking tea stuck on the ceiling.

Texas Bob (far right, with guitar) jamming at Spooks and Ukes.

It was with great sadness that we recently learned of the passing of longtime WFR participant Texas Bob. A stalwart member of the Tuesday afternoon Zoom group, Bob rarely missed a session over what I’d guess to be six years or more. His deep, gravelly voice brought a compassionate, steadying presence, although he rarely showed his face, which was emblematic of his private, humble nature. Bob’s work reflected an exploration of the complications of human relationships, often between male and female, and it frequently showed a romantic side. But he could also go deep into the pain, suffering and loss that often accompanied the misuse of substances.

Bob dedicated a good chunk of his life toward service for the recovery community. In addition to the support he showed other participants in WFR Zooms, he founded and maintained the WFR Telegram group, where he posted our Tuesday writing prompts and allowed folks to post their responses in a private space where group members could enjoy them. He also held a Monday song circle for songwriters in recovery and volunteered a space for unhoused people in Dallas, Texas, where he lived at the time of his death.

We are going to miss Bob, not only for his wonderful work and his contributions to the group, but his quiet sense of humor, his compassion toward the human condition, and his support for people across the world of recovery. In honor of all he gave, the next volume of our One Imagined Word at a Time anthology will be dedicated to him.

Tuesday group member Jenani Tzhone, who knew Bob in the world outside Zoom, wrote this beautiful tribute piece. We thank her for sharing and hope you will all enjoy it.

Ode to Texas Bob

You always showed up with your cowboy hat profile picture looking so Texan, with your name to
confirm.
One meeting you told us- it really wasn’t your picture but a celebrity that shared your
resemblance.
That made me laugh.
You rarely showed your face those years but that didn’t matter because your writing told more
than your face ever could.
Occasionally your screen would turn on and half a gray head would show.
You were elusive and mysterious yet with a deeply grounded voice you shared your story.
You kept reaching out through Telegram and pushing recovery events I never would have
checked out but for your persistence.
Vermont seems so far and foreign but knowing I had a friend in Texas brought some warmthand gave me an extra reason to show up.
I wouldn’t be in this group if it weren’t for you and this group has saved my life.
After years of zoom my curiosity got the best of me and I invited you to my Spooks and Ukes
event.
You showed up sheepishly with your guitar and we hugged like long lost friends.
Surprisingly, yet not surprisingly, you knew other people there.
We sang our hearts out and ate Texas chili.
I hope you're singing somewhere a little sweeter now my friend.
Thank you,
Jenani Tzhone

Bess and the gang at Ben’s House.

Writers for Recovery holds in person workshops from Vermont’s southern reaches all the way to the Canadian border. So even if your organization is in a faraway corner of our state, we’re ready to come write with you!

Recently, Bess had the opportunity to work with residents at Ben’s House in Derby Line, VT, which sits right on the US-Canada border. An initiative of the Kingdom Wellness Collaborative, Ben’s House is a sober living and workforce development program, situated on eleven acres of open fields, gardens, and vast frontage on the pristine Derby Pond. It serves men with substance use disorder coming from inpatient treatment or incarceration.

Bess and the guys had a fun and healing time at the workshop, and while it was our first one there, we’re hoping it wont’ be our last. Thanks to everyone at Ben’s House for everything you do, and for making our workshop there a successful one!

The Next Big Thing(s)

The next Big Things followed the previous
thousand Big Things that
seem to occupy my mind in a single moment,
None of which turn out to be very big after all.
Maybe one or two were mid-sized
But the remaining 9,998 were actually small enough
To be forgotten
In the space of the Next Big Things
Which in turn were small enough
to fit into the mind of a peeper frog.

I wish I could empty all these Big and small things
from my mind.
And for a moment, just disappear. 

My Name Is?

My name is not mud.
My name is not God.
My name is not Dog.
My name is something to believe in.
Believe in something or be nothing.
There is never nothing.
There is always something.
So “Something” is my name, and I like my name because I am something.
Maybe I’m something bigger than myself, but I’m not God.
Not God, but I can create something because I am Something.
I’m something to believe in, and I believe I can, I can.
I can?
Who am I again?
Oh yeah that’s right, I’m “Something”.
And I have to keep reminding myself that I am something.
Otherwise I’ll be nothing and I’m just starting to really believe.
Really believe that I am something!
Something to believe in is me.
That’s me I’m “Something”!
I’m repetitious and I have to be or else I’ll forget that I am “Something”.

Grey Goose Love

I can remember my colors grey.
Grey is a goose that’s flying away.
Away to wherever I dreams is a place.
Dreams of a beautiful place far away.
Far away there’s always a better place.
Better food, better friends, better scenery.
Scenery of beauty, beautiful trees, beautiful lakes, beautiful mountains.
The beauty of love, deep love that lies within my heart.
My heart that’s filled with love for all to share.
I fly high and spread the beauty of life where all I go.
And I go far because I have much love to share.
Never to be grey on the inside but only grey on the outside.
Grey, flying high carrying the beauty of love.

PLANET WOMB

I come from a planet called womb.
Where all was warm and smooth.
Comfortable for me yes.
Comfortable for my keeper maybe no.
It was a warm safe space I enjoyed.
Then came light, way too bright.
Sounds way too loud.
My secure warm place gone.
Suddenly surrounded by open. Large open space.
Large alien creatures.
A large creature grabbed me.
Fear and terror possessed me.
I started screaming.
What else could I do?
Support for my head arms and legs gone.
I’m floundering.
They were so large and strong.
Nothing else to do, I just kept screaming.
I don't know if I'll ever get used to it.
A large aliens appear to be trying to help comfort me.
I try to relax but I'm gripped by fear.
Surrounded by air it fills my lungs and covers my flesh.
I try to fight but my efforts are useless.
I want something I need something.
I don't know what I need or want.
I'm placed on top of an alien.
There is something familiar with this alien.
Comfort comes to me.
I need to rest and I'm very tired from the fight.
It's drained all the strength from me and I sleep.

New to Recovery?

Live life, one day at a time
And when one day at a time feels like an endless battle,
Focus on one hour, one minute, one second, or one breath.

Stay connected.
Stay connected with those who have walked similar paths.
Stay connected with those who love you, support you, offer compassion, and hold you accountable.
Stay connected with those who stay away from shame, guilt and judgment.

Be here now.
Be true to yourself.
Remember with struggle comes strength.
Continue fighting for better moments, better days and a better future.

Pause and just breathe…

Stay grounded.
Focus on your feet planted where you stand.

When you face adversity, persevere. 

 I Am Present

 Feet firmly placed on the floor.

Whispers and rustling drift from across the room.

Shadows dance across my page as my pen travels from left to right, then back to the left.

The music playing soothes my soul and softens the tension

From my forehead down to my jaw to my shoulders and mid back.

The nearly silent sounds of others writing gives me comfort and encouragement.

Tick tock goes a clock.

A distant buzz occurs in the background of the world traveling by

As the five of us pour out our hearts into the pages of these notebooks.

A phone vibrates but still we write.

We write for processing.

We write for healing.

We write for validation.

We write for connection.

We write for our younger selves, our present selves and our future selves.

We write for the ones who didn't make it and we write for those still struggling.

We write for recovery. 

In Recovery I Have Found

 Acceptance

Adventure

Advocacy

Art

Authenticity

Awe

Beauty

Bravery

Capability

Change

Clarity

Comfort

Community

Compassion

Competence

Confidence

Connections

Coping skills

Courage

Creativity

Discomfort

Evolution

Excitement

Exploration

Forest Bathing

Grace

Gratitude

Grief

Groundedness

Harm Reduction

Healing

Holistic Wellness

Intersections

Joy

Kindness

Laughter

Lessons

Love for Life

Memories

Mindfulness

Normalization of Contrasting Emotions

Patience

Peace

Play

Poetry

Prevention

Pride

Self-expression

Strengths

Struggle

Understanding

Validation

Wonder

Worthiness

Yearning

Yoga

Youthfulness

 
And so much more.

IT ALL WORKED OUT

Everything must happen for a reason
All the good, the bad, and the ugly
Overcoming challenges and obstacles in life
Build character
Molding me into the person I didn't even know I was
But who I am truly meant to be
Blessed
Blessed to be alive another day
Every day
A blessing and miracle 
To look back on my journey so far
Encouraged by faith and hope to continue
I thank God every morning and night
Because God is my "HIGHEST" power
All things work together for my highest good
I thank YOU because
It all worked out

It's Different for Me

How is this so?
I don't know
But it's different for me
Experiences change us
For better or worse
Strength can vary
From moment to moment
Hope is the pinnacle of life
A beacon of light we all need
I have that
But it's different for me
At least I think it is
My perception of the difference
Limited by my explanation
I can't tell you how
Maybe it's not by much
But it's different for me

Everyone is So Certain

Everyone is so certain
it won't happen to them,
until it does.
Everyone is so certain
it won't go too far,
but who can ever stop?
Everyone is so certain
just by the confidence made,
by those already going along.
Everyone is so certain
even though everything is going wrong,
best friends and family gone.

Everyone is so certain,
until they’re not.
To be certain of nothing
will not subtract from agency
and will allow for questioning.
Credibility comes through principle practicing.
The road to certainty is never ending,
might as well walk it with autonomous authority.
Do good, anonymously.

I Remember that Place

I remember that place
Where we used to visit
When we were all still young
Before we’d all gone off
To other places
And had little ones of our own
I remember that place
When we were free
With safety held in torch lights
By our family and elders
Now we hold the illusions
I remember that place
Before tragedy wrenched our guts
Before we were all sucker punched
Boredom was my worst enemy and yours turned out to be someone
you loved and thought you could trust
I remember that place that held us once
Now we aren’t quite hopeless
But certainly weary
I worry about you little brother
I pray by the way
You told me
Since you told me
God speaks to you in dreams
I don’t know what you’re doing
Or where you’re going now
It looks like the road you’ve been taking
Might be changing
It looks like you have a good companion with you
I love you\
In my dreams you hear me telling you to come home
I miss you
It would be nice to see you more regularly though
I know when I go remembering that place
That we never had it easy
But things are shaping up here believe me
In any case, you know, be happy bro
And take it easy

It Wasn’t the Right Time
It wasn’t the right time for him to start in. He, of course, was not aware of this. None of them were. That was doubly true. Once because they were new to the world in general and just were hardly aware of how to move their bodies. All ego, the little foreign people, I heard someone call them once, because of how they are learning to talk and they sometimes are hard to comprehend as they aren’t always speaking in fully formed sentences. Secondly, because they haven’t learned that there are social expectations – for good reasons – which it is useful to be aware of when entering new contexts.

My context was that I was fully aware of all of them, as I had to be watching out for not only my own but also any one of their trajectories. We were at the Inglewood Pump Track when he started to drop in without seeing me coming. I was nearly over the last hump before the big curve on the smaller track. I would have run right into him. I was going too fast. I turned, suddenly, the opposite direction which I had planned to turn. Instead of colliding into and probably demolishing his little body, I slid on my shinbone like a nice boardslide might do, across the sharp corner of the curve’s lip. The edge sliced right through my pants. There was blood everywhere. The kid didn’t even notice.

Where I’m Headed

Where I’m headed could be many things I suppose.

It could be full of different people or empty.

It could be home.

Or maybe I’m already home wherever I go.

Maybe places are always empty, and people just come as they go.

One thing I know is that where ever I go, there I am.

And whenever I feel lost, I just have to get honest to find my way again.

I don’t think where I am headed is on map. I couldn’t tell you where to go to find me in five years. I can tell you that I have hope. I hope for trees and similar things. Rich oxygen, clean, fresh water.

All the things, the experiences, the mistakes, the adventures I’ve had so far would suggest to me that whatever comes next I will love more than I can imagine now. So, where I’m headed maybe doesn’t matter so much. We are here and happy. I love you. Thank you for having me.

What I Expected
by Reeta the ReeMix

I had no idea. I couldn't even fathom life on the other side.
Sobriety? I've heard of that.
That's when you quit doing what you couldn't stop doing before.
Drinking, smoking, using substances 
To escape reality and avoid the pains of life.
I used to say, "That's for quitters, and I never give up!"
Now, on the other hand
Or the other side of the coin
"Heads"
Is recovery
Not at all what I expected
Well, I also had no clue.
I know when a person is healing after being broken
Like an arm or leg, or surgery
Recovery is the slow process of getting better
Recovery also means healing my distorted perception of life
After 18 months
It's way better than
What I expected

It Wasn't the Right Time 
by Reeta the ReeMix

Is there ever really a "right" time?
There can definitely be a wrong time.
But isn't time relative?
Or an illusion?
I think time is just a way for people to differentiate
What has happened already
From what has not happened yet
But there is no time like the present
It only exists in this moment
So... if it wasn't the right time
That means anytime but now
Because "Now" is the best time

Where I'm Headed 
The answer to this question may change
Depending on how I'm feeling at the moment
Who’s asking who, and what is the purpose of asking

If I'm asking myself
The purpose is awareness
With the intention to process
My feelings, directions
Or the necessary actions that I must take

If someone else is asking
They may be offering help
Curious because they admire something
Or just being nosy