cagejam

For as much as I hate taking cough syrup every morning
I hated being a junkie more.

Why couldn’t I quit you?
Fentanyl is the newest white devil.
We were spending at least $200 a day, and still waking up sick 3 hours after our last shot.
Last shot.
Suboxone did nothing.
One day, before 6 am work, we were so sick that we each took 3 subs.
Had to leave work to score.

I push all of this from my mind all of the time.
I push the people I’d met, the sorrow I’d seen and even the love i’d felt down.
Minds are tricky.

After a year and almost a half I feel like I’m ready to categorize my experiences or at least my memory of them.


I don’t miss whisky drunk you throwing couches at me, crying, running away and sleeping under steps.
I don’t miss lying and cheating and overcharging and-
I don’t miss tossing and turning.
I don’t miss the waiting.
I don’t miss who I became.


Like all terrible things, in the beginning it was fun and easy.
It ripped us all apart.

I’ve been so busy rebuilding that I never mourned the pieces I can not have back.

I need a year-long meditation
not a mental vacation

Soon my older sister is going to do a session on me and dig into my field.
I’ve felt off lately.
The difference this time is I know the repercussions of succumbing to this feeling. I know that my urge to cut out meditation is a false one. I know that my overwhelming want to sleep all day is counterproductive. I don’t give into these sensations anymore- because I know that I can’t. I know where that road leads and it is dark and lonely and empty.
This is progress.
I’m excited to see what she says.

I’ve been distant from the people I love because I’ve felt distant from myself.

My intentions are pure.

I have been doing The Work at an alarming rate. I’ve been growing wildly.
Some days I worry about outgrowing you.
Some days I wonder if I still need to catch up.

I’ve started painting my kitchen.
Tangible results are essential.

bury me in a shallow grave
play footsies with my bones

Crooked fingers Steady hands

I don’t believe in that blue painter’s tape.

wooden beaded curtains, the green of thriving house plants, potential, lushness, openness, scruffed leather, blood relations, the first flowers of spring, betterment, fresh herbs, unfinished dinner plates, the flame reflected off of amber glass, natural rhythms, best friends, deep secrets, open books, divinity, home

You do not owe the world an explanation, no matter how diligently it demands one.

You are matter and magic.

Material and immaterial.


A darkness is lifted.