WRITTEN WORD
ISSUE 5 / SEPTEMBER 2023
She was…
by Miguel Pedraza
Miguel Pedraza is a poet with a B.A. in English from the University of Michigan with a sub-concentration in Creative Writing. They reside in Lansing, MI and are queer, non-binary, black, and sober; these experiences inform their work.
@poetrypedraza
"You know I got my own convictions and they're stronger than any addiction." - Paramore, Tell Me How
Addictive.
Intense.
Consistent.
Unpredictable.
Inspiring.
Mind-blowing.
Wicked.
Fickle.
Irritating.
Frustrating.
Exhilarating.
Draining.
Expensive.
Accepting.
Nasty.
Devastating.
Beautiful.
The love of my life
And my biggest heartbreak.
Dedicated to:
Molly
Mary
Candy
Al
Sid
Benny
Nic
Poppy
Demetria
Zora’s Song
by Miguel Pedraza
Don't tell me you're sober
To try and impress me
It's okay if you spiral
Cuz life's fucking heavy
I plan to go nowhere
When you're feeling desperate
Come rest on my shoulder
Take time for a respite
Stay with me
Don't walk away
I'll be with you when you falter
I need you
To be okay
I won't be a witness to your slaughter
You tell me you're broken
And that you're past fixing
You're missing the times when
You were fucked up and tripping
You haven't been sleeping
And you're feeling manic
Are you fabricating
Or is this organic?
Stay with me
Don't walk away
I'll be with you when you falter
I need you
To be okay
I won't be a witness to your slaughter
Pleasantville
by Miguel Pedraza
Living in the construct is easy
We move along a preordained path
Cycling through these prescribed motions
Helps prevent bad emotions
The pleasant melody of a life
Lived within false harmony
Still sounds as sweet as if
The notes weren't being played for us
Mason Jars
by Melissa Munro
I had spoken before about the struggles involved with staying present after loss. Thanks for creating a platform that gave me something to look forward to, when I couldn't do much else. I flipped out my coat tails, and sat down to type another entry. There are bad days, pillow screams, deep breaths, stiff necks, but no substances. Just raw emotion & coping skills.
Mason Jars is about the progression of grief, maintaining sobriety and being selective with memories. It's important to keep on living and not get bogged down in your day to day recollection of people we've lost, and the feelings associated with said memories. Life is too short to remain numb.
I’ve collected all these mason jars,
I don’t know what to do.
I can’t display them on my shelves,
Transparent to your view.
And if I put them down below,
just push them to the back
I’ll forget they’re even there,
might collect dust in a stack.
I just can’t pickle everything,
who wants every taste so bitter?
One can only put so much jam away,
But mama didn’t raise a quitter.
I got rid of the chipped and stained,
I kept the ones that shine.
I kept the ones that create prisms,
Rainbows on my mind.
Dear Ugly Truth
by Stevi-Lee Alver
Stevi-Lee Alver is an Australian writer, tattoo artist and muralist. She lives in the middle of Brazil with her wife. She loves bush walks and waterfalls but misses the ocean.
Trauma Bond
by Caroline Moore
Caroline Moore is a writer based in Atlanta, Ga. Through her writing and art, Caroline explores themes of identity, femininity, trauma, love, loss and grief. She is currently working on a collection of poems and short stories.
@caro.beth
That’s the problem with you.
You see something you want
and you take it.
Without a second thought.
With carelessness,
violence,
a curl to your lip,
starvation on your tongue.
Whatever it takes.
After all your thieving,
all your destruction,
you have the audacity
to turn around and blame me.
But I let you have it all
as if
I had anything else to give.
I guess that’s the problem with me too.
SILENCED
by Caroline Moore
The world stuffed ssshhh down my throat before I could let out the first goo-goos and ga-gas.
When language finally formed on my tongue, I was excited to use it.
I yearned to hear myself speak. I was thrilled to play with my words.
But, before I could tumble and turn my words into thoughts, they were silenced.
I kept words bound to the back of my throat. I held my thoughts hostage inside my own head.
I learned it was better for someone like me to be seen - not heard.
“Hush.”
“Keep it to yourself.”
“Shut up!”
“No one wants to hear that!”
The lesson of telling a child to be quiet isn’t bad — children need to learn that there are times to listen.
However, when you silence that child enough times, to convince her that
her words,
her voice,
hold no weight at all.
That’s deadly.
Don’t chop off the legs of a voice before it has time to dance.
Tooth and Nail
by Caroline Moore
I ache for that place,
the one I can almost see.
And by god,
I’m going to get there.
By tooth and nail.
Tooth and nail.
I’ll chip tooth, after tooth, gnawing my way to the door.
I’ll break fingernail, after fingernail, digging into the floorboards.
I’ll snap fragment and splinter bone, pulling the weight of myself there.
By tooth and nail.
Tooth and nail.
I’ll shoulder the door open, roll all the way down the hallway.
I’ll trail pieces of my body behind me, not stopping once to look back.
I’ll hold that patch of light in my eye, chase it ‘till I feel the sun on my skin.
By tooth and nail.
Tooth and nail.
Because goddamn,
nothing feels as good as
finding my way back
home.
Heavy to Hold
by Trina T
Sobriety enthusiast, mental health activist, and foster parent doing my best to raise cool kids and have a beautiful life sober. I write words and my heart feels better. Excerpts of my collection titled Heavy To Hold. Writing is a creative art I don’t give myself rules on. I let it fall free and without judgement to express what I need to release. These particular pieces are a collective expression on perspectives we have in the midst of longing to make amends, the realities of your drinking, and blaring past the expectations of old versions of yourself.
BOOZE + BOYS
I still have your cigarette soaking up the grounds in your favorite mug.
I have had the heart to clean it up.
I am just fine constantly.
Potential slipping away at every moment.
You remind me I am heavy to hold.
I love life yet have no stomach for it
Continuously I pull myself together.
They need me and I am fine
How did I get so satisfied on autopilot.
I wish I wasn’t so plush.
I stopped drinking but I will never be strong enough to not succumb to a rainy kiss or scream crying in my car alone.
And I thought alcohol was the mean kid taunting my inner child.
But it was just you
It is constantly, consistently, continually you.
At Least I Have An Excuse
by Trina T
At least I’m still me.
At least it wasn’t that boring.
At least It was something to do.
At least it was the weekend.
At least it was on sale.
At least he saw me.
At least it was only 3.
At least I’m in charge.
At least it wasn’t liquor.
At least I didn’t drive.
At least it was a credit card.
At least I live close.
At least I was held.
At least they aren't old enough to know.
At least it was one shot.
At least I didn’t black out.
At least I don’t remember.
At least I don’t have to feel.
At least I was wanted.
At least it’s morning.
At least I have something to depend on.
At least I knew who I was.
This Version
by Trina T
I guess I’m new here.
And sometimes yeah I’m still just full of fear.
But I know who I am.
And I’m proud of where I stand.
And when my brain fights because you were supposed to keep us safe.
I fight right back to not repeat a familiar mistake
Because now I am happy mostly and always forgiven.
Still it’s so easy to fall back to the life I was living.
Mundane Friday nights spent with laundry and soaking pots.
I guess at least I’m not so scared to be alone I drown in shots.
I should be happy, filled with laughter and presence.
The ways I failed make it too easy to resent.
Sometimes I really believe that I’m okay.
But it’s like I feel you still and all I can do is pray.
I heard our skin replaces itself about every 7 years.
My new body, one you’ve never touched is almost here.
I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be grateful I survived this.
So just let me be still especially in April, especially in morning, especially after a light mist.
Today I promise not to give in to the sweet relief of self-destruction.
I’ll remember I can’t find the same person twice, not even in the same person.
I’ve gotten so freaking good at not flinching at the sound of your name.
You’d think I was a little more digestible, a little more tame.
I’m just gonna leave and go to a place I can scream.
I’ll be everything and nothing all at once, but hey at least I’ll be clean.
Through the Pint Glass (And What I Found There)
by Lea Buel
Lea Buel is a 28-year-old high school Nutritionist currently in the state of Vermont. She has been alcohol-free since January 4, 2020. **This piece is an excerpt of a larger body of work.
@layyuuhh
Through the pint glass
I found a love
My first love
At least I thought I did
Not within myself
Not within a person
But within a substance that slowly killed me
But also brought me to life
At least my pint glass will never leave me
A toxic friendship
That awakened my soul
This must be what true happiness is
You brought me joy, the most painful joy
But the kind that robs you
Of your happiness
While convincing you that you are happy
Making you believe
This is what true happiness is
A friend
A companion
This must be love
You will never leave me
I can trust you
And most of all
You can make me forget
Everything that has happened
And that is to come
I fell in love with you
In the way they write about in stories
In movies
Happily ever after?
Maybe one day
Maybe after this drink
I swear this is my last one
Through the pint glass I learned to love
The warm feeling creeping up the back of my neck
That first sip like no other
The familiarity of a hug from a friend
That same friend that will carry you out of the bar
When you’ve had too much to drink
Again
I have my first sip
Already fantasizing what my next would be
And the next
And the next
And the next
Through the pint glass
I found friendship
But not the kind of friend
That walks you home after a long night
The kind of friend you call for a good time
Don’t call them if you’re having a bad time
Music blasting
Dancing on tables
Is this happiness?
Everyone’s doing it
So it must be okay
I am the life of the party they tell me
But no one knows
I am the life of the party
That doesn’t want to live anymore
Through the pint glass
I found mornings that started with pounding headaches Wondering how soon I could have my next fix
Anxiety, regret, shame
Horrified by my actions
How soon is too soon to drink?
Solace
by Christine Hogg
Christine Hogg is a designer based in Fort Collins focusing on 2D media. Through experience in the visual arts, language learning, art history, travel, and a career in education, she developed a love for people and open dialogue.
Hogg received a BA from Hendrix College and an MAT from the University of Arkansas.
Through art I can confront and process my past experiences, acknowledge my past and current motivations, and celebrate my current freedoms. I share my stories and perspective with others to contribute to conversations about humanization, vulnerability, and reconnection.
@christine.f.hogg / LinkedIn / christinehogg.design
Dark, alone, and at peace.
I finally found quiet. No one here and nothing around.
Sitting along the side of the road near the dead end.
No one knew where I was, and in some ways, no one cared.
There’s an unsteadiness. To stay here or to come back, the only path I know to get here is self-destruction. If I leave, there's no guarantee I'll find this place again.
Or, I can try to stay here now, forever.
I’ve wanted to arrive at this place for so long, but now I don’t think I can stay. Whatever I decide, I’ll know the peace of privacy.
---
I had isolated myself, and I was relieved in some ways. The peace sitting with the solace outweighed the pain from my alcohol use and withdrawal.
Being honest with myself, I accepted a couple of final outcomes and was ready to make a decision about what to do next.
Back in the kitchen, where I sat alone, I thought of my husband’s recent caution of us being on a dangerous precipice. He spoke plainly, like the vision.
A day or two later, I chose to stop drinking. Since July 14, 2020, I’ve unexpectedly stayed connected to that vision through mediation. It initially provided me with the motivation to venture onto a sober path despite its unknowns and to protect my serenity as each moment has passed.
The Moment When Isolation, Condescension, and Resentment Set In
by Christine Hogg
I'm angry. And embarrassed. I can't sort out whether I'm angrier at myself or at him. Or them.
Chris carried me awkwardly across our teacher's backyard and dropped me in a briar patch like a sack. I ultimately decided to ride home with him. I was in shock. Is this anger, or is it grief?
Earlier while collecting myself on the ground, I was comforted by the beauty of the briar patch from inside out. I wanted to lean in more to its warmth and away from his look.
As he told me the lesson he was teaching me and reached out his hand to help me up, I knew in the moment, with his crouch facing me and his word choice, that the tone was condescension. He dehumanized me and detached me from the group.
The light from the break in the sky along the tops of the patch's branches was harsh - letting rays in, but seemingly unattainable. His knees and calves catch that light, symbolic of the times when he was highlighted and raised up. My anger, hurt, and self-doubt deepened each time he was admired.
No amount of pick-me-ups, praise, or support was enough to counter my diminishing level of self-worth. This moment of mistreatment in Terry's backyard unknowingly shattered a piece of me, and I was vulnerable.
---
Once getting back home that day, I didn't recognize how swiftly my self-doubt was deepening and my self-worth was draining. It already felt like what happened to me didn't matter. That I didn't matter. My anger, present before and after that day, led to destructive behaviors which affected every relationship thereafter. I was less interested in seeing my own passions through and in advocating for my health. I continued to isolate in college, and, with fewer coping mechanisms in tow, I started an unhealthy use of alcohol.
I alone have had to work through whatever to increase my self-worth and combat the self-doubt. Sobriety has been the best catalyst for me to stand grounded today.
Though mistreated that day, my self-doubt was already present for several reasons before and made deeper roots after. Then, it was on me to decide how I'd respond and act moving forward.
Precipitation into the waters
by Anonymous
I am afraid
that there is no depth in me
only shallow,
murky water
Alcohol
nourishes well
and then
it sinks to the ground
I topple over
like a turbid pond
that had too much
of everything