Blossom Review - Summer 2002

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C l e a n Wat e r i s E asy to Dr i nk Writing from Women at Serendipity

NY Writers Coalition Press SPRING 2016

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Copyright © 2016 NY Writers Coalition, Inc.

ISBN: 978-0-9964012-7-2 Library of Congress Control Number: 2016947107

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Upon publication, copyright to individual works returns to the authors.

Editor: Colleen Breslin Layout: Daisy Flores Cover Image: Title: The Addicted Poet Clean Water is Easy to Drink contains writing by members of NY Writers Coalition’s workshop at Serendipity II, a residential substance abuse treatment center NY Writers Coalition Press, Inc. 80 Hanson Place, Suite 604 Brooklyn, NY 11217 (718) 398-2883 info@nywriterscoalition.org www.nywriterscoalition.org

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Yes it’s here The addictive season Yeah, people get high in the winter Spring and fall But none of them touch getting high in the summertime at all People hanging out in the streets all times of the day and night hooking up or having fights.

Having fun drinking and drugging Ladies dressing up in their finest gear Waiting for the sun to go down so they can go clubbing Children running up and down the block or riding bikes and having water balloon fights.

But they have to go in before dark cause bullets fly on these summer nights Innocent people fall For no reason at all Silly people shooting guns Never shooting the right one

While innocent bystanders are only outside trying to enjoy the weather and have fun.

Bang Bang Bang Goes the sound of the gun.

No surprise. Another one.

But we turn on the news and find out who got hurt or died today.

All of this on these hot ass days If we could only find guidance, someone to show us that there are better ways.

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People still excited, the summer is finally here.

Pool Parties Screamin’ Yes Bathing Suits Ass All Out Ballers All Around spending money that’s what I’m talking about The guys going to the Sports Bar playing pool watching the Fights and Games on the Big Screen T.V. Ladies walking in with their booty shorts and shades Fellas shouting “shorty.”

People laying on the beaches catching a tan Ladies in bathing suits looking for a man Boardwalk full of tourists on a trip “Welcome” says the hustler on the Coney Island strip Selling anything you need clothes, toys, crack, weed, pills, heroine.

Mess around and get the wrong shit that quick your life is gone Prostitutes prancing hard Up and down the boulevard Feigning to turn a trick To avoid an ass whooping from a pimp And get their next hit Help make the money they use to pay bills and put food in their kids mouth clothes on their kids back Waking up every day saying this is the last time and I’ll never go back.

Ladies shaking their ass going up and down the poles Like the song says that doesn’t make you a hoe Some are paying for school cause they know no other way

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A Healing The Addicted Poet

She looks in the mirror.

Do she like what she sees?

A woman lost bending down on her knees.

“I need a healing!” she cried out loud.

A healing of mind, body and soul.

Because the negativity in my life has kept me from achieving my goals.

Acceptance of who I am is in progress I understand my feelings I have forgiveness.

No more misery, I’ve gained happiness My desire to love and sit right in my skin.

Has given me pride in being a woman.

Once frightened and living with guilt and shame.

Using my addiction as a scapegoat, hiding behind the blame Now I embrace the truth in my womb, be FREE.

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I set boundaries and I’m proud to be ME. I’m outspoken, inspirational, healthy and proud.

“A healing I’ve received!” she cried out loud.

My heart is cleansed and I’ve witnessed peace.

A revolution has happened and calmed this savage beast.

Like the air, earth and fire that lives deep within.

I break down my wall once for protection.

No more fear, denial or secrets to hide.

I’m blessed and it shines from the inside.

This celebration is not only a healing for me.

But for all recovering addicts that I call family.

Namaste I say.

To oneself be true.

And always know the revolution starts with you.

I am a WOMBMAN. A Walking Talking Revolution.

With so much wisdom I hold the solution.

I hold my head up with my afro standing high.

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No little expectations.

My limit is the sky.

Cause I believe all my dreams can come true.

And anything you want You can have it too.

I’m no longer afraid to expose my true feelings.

She cried out loud “I gladly accept this HEALING!”

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Gifts of a Struggle The Addicted Poet

She started out with a goal that she was determined to achieve.

But little did she know the tricks the devil had up his sleeves.

She rose every day at 4am in the morning No money, no breakfast in her stomach but she kept on going.

She thanked God for her lunch each day And let the Devil know he failed to stand in her way.

But he wouldn’t give up, he tried another route.

He taunted her marriage daily, to whether or not she loved her husband became doubt.

They argued with each other everyday.

But then they made up.

I guess God seen another way.

He was stronger than Satan and stopped him in every path.

Every little trick he continued to try, GOD just sat back and laughed But the struggle didn’t stop. It continued every day. But there were many gifts that were given upon the way.

Things that people overlook.

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Like food, clothing, shelter and love.

All these things given from the One up above.

Her husband and children are still by her side.

And every day she has her phone and music to soothe her on her daily ride.

Her grades are good and she understands her worth.

And soon people will publish her work.

Her poetry that is, which is one of her dreams.

And with this career life can be as it seems.

Happy, Sad, Fun, Mad. Ups and downs.

But boy how being drug free can turn your life around.

I never thought I would see this day when Gifts of a Struggle would come my way.

I will graduate this program, as well as school.

But God and remaining drug free is the number one rule.

I will get the career of my dreams.

And bells, my name will ring.

My family will finally be back together as one.

And many more Gifts of Struggle are to come.

Because without a struggle there is no lesson.

And without a lesson, there is no blessing So respect your struggles from day to

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day.

And know that God always makes a way Have no fear, and fear no troubles And always expect… The Gifts Of A Struggle

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H a v e Yo u F o r g o t t e n Me? The Addicted Poet Have you forgotten me?

I pushed and still got cut for my bundle of joy, my baby boy.

August 9th 1998. 8 lb., 12 oz. He, was born. There was no me without you.

Now sixteen and a birthday on Sunday, have you forgotten me? I haven’t heard your voice in a month or so. I never thought we would be apart. And you wouldn’t break your neck to see me. But I believe you’ve forgotten me.

Thank God for my memories that I often run back to see your face, smiling saying, “Ma.” If I could just see you for five minutes I would wrap my arms around you and tell you I love you and wouldn’t let you go until you told me you couldn’t breathe. Have You Forgotten ME? Don’t you miss seeing me or hearing my voice, my smell, my touch, my food?

I’m clean now, don’t that mean something? Aren’t you proud of ME? Or have you Truly Forgotten ME? My son, how many times do I have to apologize?

Will you ever love me like your mother again? Trust me. Respect ME. Or has someone taken my place? I see your face every day. When I’m outside sometimes I think I see you walking down the street but it’s never you. HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN ME? Maybe on your birthday you’ll come by and we will spend the day together. Maybe even lay next to each other for a while, so I could reminisce on when you used to be in my bed with me watching T.V. Oh I forgot you’ve forgotten me.

Your mother, I always thought you were a mama’s boy, my only boy.

It hurts. It really hurts. To know that you’ve forgotten me. But one day you’ll remember that you have a mom that misses you and cares about you and will die for you. And when this happens and you come back to me I’ll open my arms and hold you tight and let you know I haven’t forgotten YOU.

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Showstopper Sheila The Addicted Poet

Her Presence So Strong You Can Feel Her. Introducing Showstopper Sheila.

Her scent mesmerizes her victims before she steps into the room.

The sweet smells of her poisonous perfume.

It compliments the tone of her skin, In which she feels so confident in.

Her strut is held with such great posture and class.

And her luxurious hair hangs down to her high and firm ass.

Showstopper Sheila is her name and getting what she wants is definitely her game.

Her arched eyebrows sit above her slanted beautiful eyes with makeup of glitter and gold, Stare into them and become hypnotized.

Showstopper Sheila has dreams andher goal is to make them come true.

She uses her beauty or maybe even you.

But when she looks in the mirror who does she see?

Showstopper Sheila can be you or me.

Her outfits flawless.

Her Jewelry Impeccable.

She carries herself as a lady

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and is very respectable.

But Showstopper Sheila has many problems.

And has no idea on where to start or how to solve them.

On the inside she’s very confused.

Her main downfall is drug abuse.

All dressed up looking clean as a whistle, never trying to resolve her addiction issues.

Beautiful by day and ugly at night.

Showstopper Sheila is tired of the fight.

But who can she turn to with so much pride.

She could never come clean about what’s inside.

The things she’s done just to get by.

The life she’s living is such a lie.

How would people look at her?

How would she feel?

Would the help she seek be for real?

Can anyone hear her cry at all?

Will anyone be there when she falls?

All I can say to Showstopper Sheila is never think you are unique.

And no one can help you if you don’t speak.

So for all the Showstopper Sheilas in here today.

Stop dressing up the outside, and let the real you come out and play.

Nuff respect.

Looking good Ms. Showstopper Sheila.

But I think the person inside is much realer.

NOW. A round of applause to those that just found themselves and decided to put

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