Dear...

Dear ­­­_______,

I don’t know what to call you, so I guess I’m sorry I left that blank but that’s not what’s important here. I could start this off with a ‘Hey, how are you?’, but I think we both know there’s more to ask than that. I know, you’ve been around for what seems like forever but when do you remember you first became a problem? You can argue and say that you’re supposed to be used for “recreational purposes” or you serve a purpose in Indian ceremonies. You can tell me all the facts and give me all the dates of when you were legalized and why. But, I can give you all the dates of the deaths you caused, families you’ve ruined, and all the times you’ve been deemed harmful. I’m not looking for comfort; I simply want answers, and no those aren’t the same.

I first noticed you, creeping along my hallways late at night when I was supposed to be sleeping. I smelled the decay you left in my kitchen, even after the counters had been cleaned. I heard you, in the whispers that were traded at the grocery store between cruel mothers who shuffled away. I saw your fingerprints on my wallet, my mother’s skin, and my future. I was never sheltered from your existence, never protected for my own good.  I knew.

So, you tell me. What’s it like? No, I’m not talking about the hour-long bliss. I’m talking about the downfall, the cravings, the desire, the wanting for more. How does it feel to only be used as a numbing mechanism? How does it feel to watch a family crumble in your hands? Empowering? Heavenly? I guess it shouldn’t matter at this point, but it does. I still feel the ache, radiating out of my cheeks when I tell people he’s okay. You stole him. You ended my childhood before I was ten years old. You killed the man I loved the most. You came into my life and took the pieces you wanted the most and left a mere shell behind. You ended me the same day you ended him.

Mom still says I should learn from what you did, so despite all the anger I still carry a little too close to my heart, I thank you. You made me stronger, independent. You showed me the world is cruel and provides no comfort. You taught me to never let my guard down, always remain alert. So, tell me when he’s okay and he’s able to look me in the eye again. Tell me when you’re no longer swimming in his veins. Tell me when he can come home.

Sincerely,

                The Girl with the Addict Father

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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