Sobriety is the Santa Claus, bringing delightful gifts, which make me smile. Recovery is the Genie, which comes from staying out of bottles. This Jin makes treasure possible but doesn’t bring it to my door. The ads and billboards of illusion built a world of booze but no hope for a real life. I have learned to turn from all the lies of picking up, and live in the possibilities, which open only when I put down the drinking and the thinking. I don’t need to pin up stockings or rub lamps, just take direction and make willingness my campaign.
Store thoughts, plant seeds.
Just Say NO to Bushel Baskets
Spending my life under a bushel basket
kept me from realizing who I am.
I thought because of the close quarters
I knew myself better than those free
to explore the world, yet, alas, no.
I am unaware of the world outside and inside the bin;
this woven covering served to sever
all true communications.
Even in places where my candle burned through,
it couldn’t allow sufficient light, in or out,
for as much as an SOS or a night light.
Here I am, not knowing my abilities…
my possibilities…. or my worth
and there is the world standing,
a startled stranger from me,
for I only know it as the circle
around my feet and nothing more.